


When the World Turned Upside Down

by PeculiarLeah



Category: The Secret Garden - All Media Types, The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, Disability, Disabled Character, Edwardian Period, England (Country), F/M, Female Jewish Character, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Character, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Paralysis, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, Wheelchairs, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeculiarLeah/pseuds/PeculiarLeah
Summary: The Great War sends the lives of Mary, Colin, and Dickon in directions they couldn't have imagined. The cruel irony of a war injury which paralyzes Colin. Facing life in a wheelchair, Colin crosses paths with the beautiful, young Russian Jewish immigrant Rutka Ludtke. This story is a third Downton Abby, a third All Quiet on the Western Front, and a third The Secret Garden





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Timeline notes- although The Secret Garden was published in 1911 I am setting the events of the book around 1908 so that Colin is 17 in 1915. The lowest age for joining up for training was 18 and you had to be 19 to go over there with the British Expeditionary Forces in 1914 but tens of thousands of boys joined up young. Some at only 15 or 16. Colin is sent “over there” to France soon after his 18th birthday in early 1917 and is wounded in action several weeks later. Most of the events in this story take place in the war years between 1914 and 1920. This will be Mary/Dickon and Colin/OFC Rutka Ludtke. this is definitely a Colin-centric piece. Also I will be tackling Jewish issues like pogroms, anti semitism, early Zionism, Jewish culture, and interfaith marriage. Because the character Rutka is an Ashkenazi immigrant I will be using some Yiddish and perhaps some other Eastern European languages (Polish, Russian) and Hebrew. I’ll also be discussing disability and veterans issues, and issues of class. I should also mention that although I don't kill him, Colin would have had an 80% chance of dying of his injuries in real life. Even if he survived the first few weeks it was almost guaranteed that he would eventually die as a result of his injuries and that he would die young. Nowadays approximately 75% of SCIs are survivable and a majority of SCI patients, particularly paraplegics have a normal or near normal life expectancy and are able to be independent or partially independent. Essentially this means that the life I give Colin is more like that of a paraplegic who lived at least a few decades after the Great War.

Colin POV: March 27, 1917  
I was 15 when the war started in the summer of 1914, from that day I wanted to enlist. I was a month away from my 19th birthday when I finally joined up in early February of 1917. I was partially through my first year of university where I was studying medicine. I wanted to help people who were like I was as a child, science and medicine would be the ‘magic’ I wielded to make my mark on the world. But as the war became more entrenched and the news from the front became worse I couldn’t stand the falsely peaceful atmosphere of university. Particularly after Dickon was conscripted, I felt as though the air was electric with the call to fight. I didn't tell my father my plans and lied about my age to the recruitment officer. I don't know how he could have believed me when I told him I was 21. I don’t know why I did that, at almost 19 I was old enough to enter the army without lying. I suppose I was afraid he wouldn't believe I was old enough to join up. I didn't even have a shave for the first time until after I was in basic training. They were desperate for men- men!- they were taking boys, some much younger than I. By the time I told my father it was too late for him to do anything about it. I just walked in wearing my new uniform and told him, then I gathered my things and left. How could I have been so cruel? At least I allowed him to hug and kiss me before I left. When we said our goodbyes, there was such sadness in his eyes. He held me close. Mary cried in my arms. She never cried. I suppose I just wanted so badly to prove once and for all that I was just as strong as the other boys. That I was stronger even, could go to war even younger than they could. I wasn't going to hide in university, I was going to fight with everything I had. I had heard the stories from overseas. But I didn't understand what I was getting into, and the recruiters were always around school and they pestered me all the time, despite the fact that I was still rather thin and small for my age due to my extended illnesses as a child. I never reached even 5'4" a good three inches shorter than Dickon and shorter even than my father, although not much. I don't know how I passed the medical exam, but I did, I lied and told them I was healthy as an ox as a child. Then came training, which forced me to accept that my years as an invalid had taken more of a toll on my body then I had ever admitted. My legs in particular were still somewhat thin and tired easily. The muscles having never completely recovered from the years of disuse. My back and legs ached almost constantly from the sudden, extreme exercise. And although I built muscle quite quickly I still lagged behind the other men when I ran or marched. Had I not discovered that I was a crack shot with an Enfield rifle and quite good at working the new field radios and telephones then I would have been lost before I ever made it overseas.  
Once during training I became very ill. I had a high fever and painful muscle spasms in my back and legs. My neck ached so badly that I feared the worst of what the medical textbooks I had taken to reading had to offer; meningitis perhaps, or infantile paralysis. It turned out half the regiment seemed to have contracted the same illness, one which manifested in most of the company as a sore throat and slight temperature but managed to put me flat on my back in bed for a week. A fact which was not missed by either my fellow enlisted men or my commanding officer, or, unfortunately by Dickon. Dickon had enlisted several months before and was on his first leave from the front. He found out that I had joined the same regiment he had, the West Yorkshire Regiment. And so, before going back to Misselthwaite Dickon turned up in our camp only to find me recovering in the medic’s tent, still half delusional with fever. It would be putting it far too lightly to say he was angry, I never thought Dickon was capable of anger, but he certainly expressed something close to it when he found out I joined up. He looked so different, haunted. When he saw me he just shook his head “My God Colin, what are you doing here? You should be at university or at Misselthwaite. You're not even at the front yet and it's beating you down.” I picked at the thin wool blanket which covered me. The change in Dickon frightened me. He was harder, rougher around the edges. The magic in his eyes had a film of sadness over them. There was something else too, a knowledge, some horrific knowledge which I would only understand once I too had seen the front lines. I had no idea. I simply said, “I want to be like everyone else.” I muttered. “For once I want to be strong like the other boys.” Dickon looked me over. My strong limbs and pale face, my heavy breathing, my clammy, shaking hands. “I know, I knew you wouldn't ever tell the army about being ill before. It's not like you.” I smiled but began to cough. I sat up to try and bring up some of the thick fluid which clogged my lungs. I looked away from Dickon coughing heavily into a handkerchief. I hated to look weak even in an army uniform. Dickon rubbed my back, he shook his head again. “Tha shouldn't be here. It's too much for thee, and over there, tha’s got no idea. It's hell, Colin.” My coughing fit ended and I gave a half smile. “Well, it's too late now, I've gotten myself into this mess and there sure as hell isn’t a way out.”


	2. Hell on Earth- April to June, 1917

The front was indescribable. There were miles of trench lines dug deep into thick mud-like clay. They were never clean, or dry, even by June, when it seemed as though the heat should have managed to dry up the mud. But in Ypres, the mud never seemed to dry. The early spring had been dismal, the rain felt constant and Colin was generally stuck knee deep in mud, crouched in a communication trench working or repairing the various field radios and field telephones which were becoming increasingly important for battlefield communication and tactics. The radios were large, heavy wooden boxes filled with various wires, toggles, and dials. There were two machines which Colin would carry into a trench connecting the front line with the rear, a receiver and a transmitter. There, with bated breath, he would wait, crouched in a hole in the ground, clutching the headset to his ears and waiting for a message. When he received one he would run, crouching to whoever the message was for, get a reply and relay the answer. When his unit was placed directly at the front, Colin would be sent over the top generally carrying the heavy radio and a roll of wire to set up communication in the forward trench line which they were supposed to capture from the Germans, though they never moved more than a few dozen yards forward. Generally, they didn’t even move that far. Most of their time was spent in the same trench, heaving tonnes of steel at the Germans in front of them. The worst was the time spent in a communication trench which had been dug into no man’s land. This was a particularly precarious position and Colin quickly realized that the life expectancy of those placed in these forward trenches was dismally short. These trenches were often the first hit and the men in them rarely lasted a day. He did everything he could to avoid being placed there, even volunteering to carry stretchers through dangerous roads and muck out latrines. Combined with this, he found that the communication trenches, like all the trenches were a breeding ground for rats, fleas, and disease. Within two weeks of first landing on the Western Front Colin was laid up with a combination of trench fever and the early stages of trench foot, both infections which ran rampant among officers and foot soldiers alike. The long days crouching over radios made Colin uniquely susceptible to trench foot because he was always standing still in mud. He could never get his feet dry and the fungal infection set in quickly and proved impossible to get rid of.   
Eventually his luck ran out and he was sent to the front line of trenches. Within a week his unit was ordered try and take the German trenches opposite them. The first time Colin went ‘over the top’ he was both in shock at the horror and violence of it, and hardly able to take in what he was seeing. The ground was pocked by shell holes, many over six feet deep. Bodies and bits of bodies were strewn about the ground. It was clear from the smell that many were not freshly dead. The pock marked earth was covered in a toxic mud, there were puddles of stagnant water filled with corpses, human excrement, and the greenish byproducts of mustard gas. The earth was also covered by the garbage of war; twisted metal and barbed wire crisscrossed the once fertile landscape.   
The second time they were ordered into no man’s land, Colin’s luck would change.  
The whistle blew. Colin gripped the ladder, ready to throw himself over the top. Every instinct he had said to run away, to run as far away as he could from the thunder of the guns. Every order being shouted at him said he had no choice but to go over the top. Towards the storm of steel. For a moment he looked back and saw Dickon give him a small smile, but his eyes were full of fear. Colin launched himself over the side of the trench landing hard on some barbed wire and ran. He heard shots around him, dirt sprayed up around him as shells fell, creating enormous gashes in the earth. Men were falling left and right. It was a suicide mission, it always had been. Through the haze of smoke and dirt Colin found Dickon by his side. They ran, half crouching towards the German trench line. Colin heard the distinctive whistle of a shell above their heads and the earth several meters in front of them exploded. They were so near the shell that the shock wave knocked them backwards. Colin immediately knew he was injured by the blast, his left ankle was twisted and didn't want to take his weight. Staggering to his feet with Dickon's help, Colin tried to find the direction of the shell and his eyes found a German gunner who was now heaving a howitzer into position, facing their direction. Colin made a split second calculation. The next shell would almost certainly hit them. He pulled Dickon’s arm and they veered sideways. As he heard the distinctive whistle again he half jumped half fell on top of Dickon into a nearby shell hole. The initial impact sent waves of pain through Colin's legs, he had landed badly but his head was clear and Dickon appeared uninjured . For a split second Colin thought they were safe, then he felt a great impact to his back. Then...blackness... 

Dickon POV   
Dickon looked up at Colin, who had fallen hard on top of him. Colin looked down at him, nodding that he was at least moderately uninjured. This look was rather unconvincing as a wound had opened on his forehead and was bleeding profusely, but Dickon could feel blood blossoming from his own face and his arm seemed to have been somewhat crushed beneath him so he didn't mention it. For a second the world seemed to quiet. Then -crash!- another explosion. Clods of dirt, shards of shrapnel and heavy planks of wood rained down on them as a nearby duck bridge was hit. Dickon felt a hot pain is his cheek, another in his shoulder as shrapnel cut through his flesh like butter. There was a great impact from a falling plank and Colin's body was shoved down onto Dickon. Colin fell heavily, his eyes rolling back in his head as his body went limp. Dickon grabbed his shoulders shaking him, screaming “tha can't die! Don't you dare die Colin Craven!” He pulled Colin against the wall of the shell hole, out of the muddy water which collected at the bottom, now it was his body who protected Colin. He clapped Colin on the cheeks, trying to make him wake up. Colin's eyes fluttered, he was alive. He looked up at Dickon for a moment before letting out a high, inhuman scream. “Shhh, Colin! Lie still. I'll get tha outta here. Medic!!! Damnit! Medic!!” But no one came. No one could hear him over the whistling of shells above them. After a time, Colin's screams subsided, Dickon looked down at him, fearing that he had again lost consciousness. Instead Colin was looking up at him with a look of wild terror in his eyes. He grasped Dickon's uninjured arm. “Where are my legs? Dickon! I can't feel my legs.” Dickon sat up on his heels studying Colin's body. His legs were lying at odd angles, completely, almost eerily still as the rest of his body writhed in pain. Dickon felt helpless, watching as his best friend screamed and cried in agony. For the first time in his life- Colin Craven, the young rajah- cried for his mother. Dickon lay himself next to Colin, shielding his friends body with his own. Tears pricked Dickon's eyes and he too screamed. He screamed at God for his cruelty. Dickon didn't know if the barrage went on for hours or days. His and Colin's screams intertwined in a ghastly chorus. Eventually Dickon lost consciousness as blood spilled from the wound in his shoulder. Colin and Dickon lay in the mud. Their bodies pressed together, protecting each other even in their unconsciousness. After what felt like years Dickon awoke to find two medical officers lifting Colin onto a stretcher. He lay completely still, his face as white as a sheet. Dickon only half heard their conversation over the rushing in his own head. “What's it look like to you?” The younger asked.   
“I'd say it's a spinal injury. You saw the state of his back when we turned him.” Replied the older shaking his head. “Shite.” Cursed the younger, an Irishman. The older replied curtly. “If I'm right, he won't survive a week, almost a blessing, better than living as half a man.” Dickon protested, unsure if he was speaking to the men, screaming at them or just speaking to them in his own head. “Don't you dare say that, he’ll live, he’s got to” Dickon murmured as he felt a third pair of hands lifting him. As he was being carried away his head rolled back and once again lost consciousness.   
Dickon woke frantic. He didn’t know where he was, instead of a rough wool blanket he was covered by soft cotton sheets. As he flailed, pain shot through his shoulder, then he remembered. Going over the top. The shell hole. The explosion. Colin. God, where was Colin? He fell back into his bed and took in his surroundings. He was in a field hospital and there was a young nurse coming towards him. Dickon tried to take stock of his body, he was exhausted and his head was pounding and spinning so this took him a moment. “Thank God” he thought, he still had all four limbs, although his right arm and shoulder were in severe pain. It was bandaged so as it lay immobilized across his chest. Dickon had never felt anything like it. He had bumps and bruises plenty of times growing up, but nothing like this. He had always been extremely healthy so he had never been in hospital before or even seen a doctor. Slowly sitting up, Dickon felt a rush to his head and groaned, feeling suddenly nauseous. He looked around the hospital tent and found Colin, a curtain surrounded most of his bed but a doctor and nurse were standing by his bed so the curtain was drawn back slightly. Colin was as white as his sheets and lay deathly still. Panicking, Dickon swung his legs out of bed and tried to stand, he managed to, but only for a few seconds before his head spun and his vision began to blur. He saw a nurse come toward him and felt her arm on his, coaxing him back into the bed, then all was blackness.  
He woke again about a day later, more alert this time. Feeling slightly less dizzy he sat up and looked around for Colin. The bed where Colin had been was now occupied by a soldier Dickon didn’t recognize. Tears leapt to his eyes, and he moaned fearing the worst. Quickly a young nurse was beside him, her hand resting on his back.   
“It’s all right lad, you’re safe, you’re in the hospital, but you’ll be alright, no more fighting.” Dickon gasped, forcing the tears to slow somewhat. “It’s not me I’m cryin’ for Miss. It’s Colin- sorry- Private Craven. He was here when I woke up last, now he’s gone. I know what that means Miss. He didn’t make it.” The nurse rubbed his back comfortingly.  
“There was a transport this morning, taking the worst cases to a different hospital to get them back home. Maybe your friend was on it, there’s still hope. I’ll check the list for you and I’ll be right back.” Dickon sighed and wiped his eyes, leaning back on his pillows. He closed his eyes and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life ‘God in heaven, please let him be on that boat. Just let him live.’   
The nurse came back several moments later, smiling. Dickon looked at her with fear in eyes. “It’s alright, your friend was on the transport. His injuries were very severe, but he was alive when he left this morning, and they must have thought there was a chance he would live or they would have kept him here to let him be more comfortable.” Dickon let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you Miss” he said leaning his head back. Soon, he was asleep once again.


	3. In Dreams

Pack up your troubles in your old kitbag and smile, smile, smile...  
Colin was drifting through warm cotton. The sounds of the field hospital rushed around him, but he was oblivious to it. The dreams would not let him go. He couldn’t pull away, into full consciousness. Sometimes even as he dreamt of the garden or screamed with fear at the images of war which passed through his mind he could hear the voices of nurses and doctors. Their voices mixed with an eerie orchestra of birdsong and gunfire. He knew he had been taken to a field hospital, as he had regained consciousness for a time. Mostly, all he knew was pain. At first he had tried to grasp what the doctors had been saying about his injuries but there were so many injured men, and so many doctors and nurses rushing about, that he could hardly make sense of it. And the pain, the pain was so blinding he couldn't pinpoint what hurt. He knew one thing though, he no longer felt any pain in his legs, he wasn't sure he felt anything at all.   
Oblivion was better. The morphine induced fog was free of pain, and if he was lucky, free of dreams. When he did dream, he was in a perpetual nightmare. Often, it was the same repetitive dream which haunted him. He would be standing in front of the walls of the garden, reaching out his hand to open the door, as his hand touched the door and pushed it open the rumble of gunfire began. The walls shook but Colin could not run, he could only walk forward into the garden.   
At first the garden was at its peak of beauty. Every flower was in bloom, the grass was green, and roses circled the landscape. The sky was beautifully blue and the sun shone in Colin’s eyes. There was something wrong though. The beauty shimmered in a way which frightened him. It didn’t seem real, the beauty seemed to mock him in a sinister fashion. As the rumble of gunfire increased the beautiful sheen melted away. The walls of the garden began to crumble. The sky darkened, filling with clouds of smoke and poison gas. The ground rumbled and began to fall away. In place of the green grass there was dark churned mud. Bodies grew up from the depths of the mud, floating to the surface. The flowers shriveled and grew gray. There was a whistling overhead and a burst of flames, the grass and trees began to burn. Soon everything was consumed by the close choking air, the acrid smoke and licking flames. Everything except the roses. The roses shook in the ground, then they began moving. Crawling and creeping around the bodies, their flowers were red as blood. As Colin stepped towards one of the dead men, the man’s eyes opened. His eyes were a sickly yellow. The roses and their vines had snaked their way up the man’s rotting arm, as the man began to move, to sit, to reach his stinking fingers towards Colin, the vines crept over Colin's fingers binding the men together. As their fingers met Colin struggled to get away but to no avail. The dead man smiled and began to laugh, pulling his rotten lips over blackened teeth and bleeding gums. He pulled Colin towards him and as Colin began to fall towards the churning earth and the man’s broken body, he recognised the face. It was Dickon.   
Colin’s eyes flew open and he let out an inhuman scream.


	4. Nursing Colin

In the last ward I worked, boys would awaken in pain and mental anguish every night. Here most of the men are too weak even to reach out their arms and cry out. Here, they just lay there, weak, most in the slow process of wasting away into nothingness. The average life of a spinal patient is less than a year since injury. There are occasionally lads who are strong enough. Or more accurately, whose injuries were less severe. They fight the morphine, some of them regain some strength and the lucky of them can avoid the kidney damage and skin infections which plague spinal patients. Private Craven was one of these patients. Dr. Hawthorne says that he will probably show some recovery and may live a long life despite his injuries. He certainly fights harder than many spinal patients. He has been feverish since he got here and goes between bouts of delirium and long periods of silence. Although his fever is high and his color is not good, he passes water well, although he doesn't manage to drink much. He was injured nearly three weeks ago and doesn't show any sign of kidney or bladder infections which bodes very well for his chances of survival, particularly considering the conditions he had likely faced in the field hospital. Most field surgeons see spinal injuries as unsurvivable. Some will not treat the patient, leaving them to die of an injury which is “not to be treated.” This is only partially because they do not know how to treat these patients, more it is because they could not see the worst cases as being able to live any kind of full life. They do not see the life of a man in a wheelchair as worth living. Others perform risky operations in a desperate attempt to heal the spine. These operations generally only cause further damage and increase the risk of infection. Anyway, he does seem to have some lucid moments. Dr. Hawthorne believes the fever is caused by inflammation of the fluid around the spine as a reaction to spinal shock rather than from infection because the wound on his back is, by some miracle, not septic. We can only hope that this is the case, many patients come in with sepsis already taken hold in bedsores or other open wounds. Most in this condition last only a few days. He came in in the same filthy condition as most of the men, he had still been in his uniform which was crusted with mud and fused to his body in places with dried blood. His feet especially were in a dangerous state when they first undressed him. The skin was rubbed raw in places and he had evidence of trench foot. This was made worse because of clearly poor circulation. Most field surgeons would not have known that blood pools in paralyzed limbs causing danger of gangrene, particularly when constricted by ill fitting army boots. Dr. Hawthorne ordered warm water baths and massage to encourage blood flow, hopefully his efforts will have been enough to save his feet but there really is no telling. Then again, it wasn’t as though the poor boy’s feet would be of much use to him now. 

POV Switch: Third person omniscient   
Colin was deep in his dream world, his forehead was drenched with sweat and his hands clutched weakly at the sheets   
“No!” He cried out. The vision which had become so familiar was fading slowly, becoming the white walls and beds of a hospital, rather than the jumbled images of roses growing over corpses who smiled grotesquely out of Colin's nightmares.   
Suddenly he felt something cold, and he began to wake. “Hush, hush, everything will be alright lad, it's over, you're safe now, no more fighting” Colin clutched at the nurse's hand. His eyes were fever bright, and there were two bright red spots on his cheeks. ‘Poor mite,’ she thought, ‘he looks no more than a boy.’ She stroked his cheek with a cold cloth, soon he had begun to shiver. He whispered “cold” as she touched the cloth to his cheek and tried to reach his hand towards the cloth but found himself too weak. Indeed his hands had become clammy, his lips tinged purplish blue, but he was still hot to the touch. ‘Chills,’ she thought, ‘brought on by the fever.’ Nurse Anderson always tried to remain professional, but it became harder each day not to cry for these poor boys, to hold them and comfort them like their own mothers would, particularly now she felt the small secret life kicking inside her. The life, whose father was still on the Western Front, a moment away from the threat of death. She helped Colin change out of his sweat soaked pajamas and changed his soiled sheets. “That's better isn't it?” She said as she lay Colin down on fresh pillows. “Yes Miss, thank you. I just wish my back didn't ache so much. And there's this funny thing with my legs. I can't seem to move them, or feel them now that I think about it.” The last came out as a murmur, he was drifting again, muttering to himself about a garden. His thickly lashed grey eyes began to close as she lifted a cup to his lips, “ you can sleep in a bit, but you've got to have a drink, come on, stay with me” he took the water and it seemed to revive him somewhat, though his eyes still looked distant and glassy. Nurse Anderson looked at his chart, he hadn't taken food or water in the evening, but he looked slightly more alert now and she thought she'd try again. Colin managed a few spoonfuls of clear broth and lay half awake for some time before drifting away from the ward again, into dreams. Nurse Anderson sat beside him until he dozed off. Holding his hand, cooling his forehead. Making sure that whatever nightmares he was facing in his fitful, fevered sleep, he knew there would be someone waiting on the other side.


	5. A Telegram, a Train, and a Hospital- June 1917

A telegram was a feared thing in those days, no one ever received a telegram with good news. It always relayed a tragedy, particularly the ones from the War Office which invariably informed a family that their father or son had been killed somewhere in France. So when a heavily pregnant Martha answered the door that June morning she rushed into Master Craven’s sitting room as quickly as she could. Her face was deathly pale when she entered. Mr. Craven stood up painfully and Mary turned with a look of fear in her eyes. Martha choked out “Sir, there’s been a telegram, it's from the War Office.”  
Archibald sunk into his chair, unable to move or speak. Mary got up and took the telegram from Martha. The room was silent as she read “We deeply regret to inform you that Private Colin Craven Infantry is officially reported as severely wounded in action June 7. He will be returned to England. More to follow.”  
Mary breathed a sigh of relief although tears still stung her eyes. “He’s alive, it says he was wounded. Over a week ago! They’re sending him home.” She went over and knelt before her uncle clasping his hand. “Did you hear that, Uncle Archie? Colin’s alive, he’s coming home, everything will be all right!” Archibald looked at her sadly. “I wish I could share your confidence, but they would not have sent a telegram like this unless his wounds were...” He couldn't seem to bring himself to say the words. “There’s no telling what happened to him out there. They aren't sending men home to recover from cuts and bruises in this war. If they're sending him home it means they don't think they will be able to make him well enough to go back to fighting in the trenches. We must still prepare for the worst."   
Plans were made quickly, Archie’s London flat was made ready, a lady's maid was hired for Mary, as Martha could no longer travel, and a nurse was arranged for when Colin was released from the hospital. They waited in a state of quiet torment for further news.

Four days later another telegram came which read “Private Craven has arrived at King George’s Military Hospital located in Stamford Street, London.” Archibald and Mary got train tickets that same day and made arrangements to stay at Archie's flat in London. The train ride was tense and silent. Despite the warm day Mary had donned a dark traveling suit but was now rather regretting the decision. When they finally got to London they had their bags sent on to the flat and took a cab directly to King George’s Hospital in Stamford Street. The building was large and foreboding, there were two ambulances parked outside and soldiers and nurses milled around the stone steps . Mary looked in horror as she saw that some of the men were missing arms or legs. Still others had bandages covering their faces. Mary shuddered as she thought of the possibility that Colin could look like that when she next laid eyes on him. Another wave of horror hit her as she thought of Dickon still at the front, a moment away from becoming like these broken men, or even worse. She averted her eyes from the soldiers as she and uncle Archibald climbed the large stone steps and entered the hospital's dark wood paneled entrance hall.  
Archibald went up to the front desk where a harangued nurse stood shuffling papers. “We’ve come to see Private Craven, West Yorkshire Regiment. He should have come in in the past few days.”  
“Are you family?” she said, not really paying attention.  
“Yes, I’m his father, the telegram said he would be on the wards already.”   
She finished with her papers, looked for Colin's file and when she found it, came out from behind her desk.   
“Follow me, please” she said, gesturing to a flight of stairs down the hall. They ascended the foreboding wooden staircase and as they passed by the first two floors, Mary cringed as she heard the screams and whimpers of young men and saw the awful equipment left in the hallways. There were men in those halls too, lying on litters or cots. Most were covered in a foul mixture of mud and blood and were still in their uniforms, waiting to be moved into the wards. They, like Colin, had probably come directly from field hospitals behind the front lines in France or Belgium, though some came from as far away as North Africa. The room which they were led to was neat and clean, although plain and oddly dark despite its large windows. The walls were painted white above the same elegant wood paneling Mary had seen in the entry. This room was smaller than the other wards they had passed, there were only a dozen or so beds and most of the young men were still and silent. Several of the men were encased in plaster from the hips up. Two nurses walked around the room checking patients and a doctor was examining a boy with black hair. It was Colin.   
There was a bandage on his forehead and his eyes were closed, his face was bruised and battered, he was pale as a ghost, his dark lashes making half moons on his cheeks. "Colin!" Mary exclaimed under her breath, tears stung her eyes. He looked so small lying there. Nothing of the strong lad who believed in magic and ran about the moors could be seen in his pale face. Archibald was almost as pale as his son. His hand shook as he raised it over his mouth. There was a great and terrible sadness in his eyes.   
Slowly Archie advanced to the foot of his son's bed and said to the doctor "I'm his father" then again softly "I'm his father." The doctor turned to him his face grim, “I am Dr. Hawthorne, I’ll be looking after your son” he shook Lord Craven’s hand, but Archie looked hard at him, shaking his head slightly. "Please, just tell me." The doctor took out his chart and took Archibald aside, then speaking to Mary. "You can sit with him if you like, Miss. Mr. Craven, if you could follow me please."   
Mary found a stiff backed chair and pulled it over to Colin’s bed. She recalled that night nearly a decade earlier when she had sat beside the large four poster bed hung with brocade, and sung a soft Hindustani song to help him sleep. How much had changed... The world was turned upside down, descended into a pit of madness. She took his hand and held it close to her heart. He didn't wake, he didn't even stir “Oh, Colin, how could we have let you go?” Once again, she murmured the soft Hindustani song to the sleeping boy, with black hair.


	6. The Diagnosis

Archibald followed the army doctor into his office, only a small cubicle really, with a desk and bookcases. It had windows on both sides which looked in on the ward. The doctor gestured for Archibald to sit, although the doctor himself remained standing. He took out a file and added several papers from his clipboard, he flipped through the pages, gathering his thoughts.   
"From what we can gather from the field hospital’s report, your son was protecting another soldier in the field when both were thrown by an explosion into a nearby shell hole and were later hit by some debris. He and a Private Sowerby were found by an ambulance crew some hours later once the barrage subsided. The other boy was injured as well, though not nearly as badly. It seems your son took the brunt of it. He saved that boy's life. I wouldn't be surprised if his commanding officer puts him in for a distinguished service cross. Do you know if they knew each other well?" Lord Craven rubbed his forehead "yes, they have been friends since they were children, Dickon is slated to be head gardener once our current one retires." The doctor frowned slightly and continued pursuing his papers. "He was quite brave, they would both have been killed if he hadn't acted as quickly as he did." Archibald stood, his eyes pleading "please Doctor, just tell me."   
The doctor sighed and put the folder on his desk. "Let me be clear, I do think your son has a good chance of survival, better than most spinal patients I see, but his injuries were quite severe. One leg suffered nerve damage, and is broken badly, the other leg is damaged as well, though not as badly. The impact also caused muscle damage, and he lost a lot of blood, he's lucky they didn't amputate in the field. Either injury alone would probably have put him out of the service. What I am more worried about is his spine, he sustained blunt force trauma to the lower back. An X-ray showed damage to the spinal column around the tenth thoracic vertebrae and a significant amount of swelling around the spinal cord. The vertebrae have been crushed and dislocated, causing pressure on the nerves. This pressure cuts off the blood supply which caused what I believe to be significant nerve damage. This had caused swelling which I believe had contributed to your son’s current illness. Although I couldn't see a clear break of spinal column or specific transaction of the cord itself, unfortunately the spinal cord is notoriously hard to examine, even in an x-ray. This means that as the spine heals the swelling may recede and he may regain feeling and possibly some movement. I suspect that even after the spine heals he may remain paralyzed due to the nerve damage in the legs themselves. It is my opinion that with the combined damage to his legs and spine, that your son will never walk again."  
Archibald collapsed into the chair, his head in his hands, he made no sound. His son hadn’t walked until he was ten years old, he had been weak and sickly, everyone, including Archibald, had thought he would die young. He had never thought his son would be healthy enough to be a soldier. Then by some miracle a child called Mary Lennox had come into their lives, hit them over the head and made them see that Colin’s infirmities were all imagined. But now, now he would have to tell his only son that everything he had gained in the past years was gone. That it had been destroyed in the blink of an eye. His son would never walk again, never run across the moors again. Never again stand proudly next to Archie as they surveyed the gardens. His voice broke as he thought aloud “I'll have to tell him. When he wakes up. God, how do I tell him? My boy didn’t walk until he was ten years old, how on earth can I tell him this? It will kill him.” Dr. Hawthorne sighed, he looked confused by Archie's revelations, but he didn’t pry, he put his hand slightly gruffly on Archibald’s shoulder. “I have specialized in neurology for 15 years and I have yet to find an easy way to break news like this. Just be there for him, encourage him, keep him learning and doing. Make him feel useful. When he cries, hold him. When he lashes out at the world be there to take his pain. And be honest with him, treat him like a man. Don’t patronize him or infantilize him, he’s a soldier, and a brave man. He isn't a child anymore, and you cannot let him remain one forever. Find a way for him to both accept help and remain strong. He must be his own man, despite his paralysis. I don’t have a perfect way of doing all that, but you will find a way in time. And Mr. Craven, he does deserve to hear it as soon as possible, and he deserves to hear it from you. He should wake within a few days and I suggest you discuss it with him as soon as he is coherent and I am able to perform a more complete neurological assessment.” Archibald had composed himself and stood, "thank you doctor, I think I shall go and see my son now." Dr. Hawthorne nodded and went back to surveying Colin’s papers.   
Archibald breathed in sharply as he left Dr. Hawthorne’s office, he had promised Colin that he would remain strong no matter what happened and he intended to keep that promise. He remembers hugging Colin as they saw him off at the train station in Richmond. He had been so tall and strong, his black hair perfectly set beneath his cap, the army issue pack swung jauntily over his shoulder. He wore his uniform with such pride, standing tall with his chest puffed out. He had smiled at Archie, telling him not to worry, that he would be fine, that he'd be home before they knew it. He had jumped onto the train with a skip in his step and had smiled and waved as Archie’s heart broke, watching his only son march off to war. He had begun to feel the void inside himself again the moment Colin had announced that he was joining up. Now there was a great fear inside him that both he and his son would sink back into the pit of despair in which they had lived before the summer of the secret garden and the Magic. He felt the black pit inside him still, threatening to escape and swallow him whole, he fought it down like bile.   
Mary sat in a chair beside Colin's bed holding one of his hands in her lap. Archibald closed his eyes and sighed, then he walked over to Mary placing his hand on her shoulder. Mary turned, her eyes asked the question she could not. 'Will he be alright?' Archibald's voice wavered and he spoke quite softly. "His back is broken, Mary. He won't be able to walk anymore, he'll live, but he'll never walk."  
"What? Uncle Archie, that can't be true!!" There were tears in her eyes and she spoke too loudly for the quiet ward. Archibald took Mary in his arms and held her.   
“I’m so sorry, Mary. I should have stopped him.” Archie whispered as he held her while she wept softly into his shoulder.  
“How can we ever tell him? After everything? He’s come so far, to have it taken from him again! It will kill him!” Archie sighed, he couldn’t handle this, not again, the pain of it clutched at his stomach and became a stabbing pain, a deep sadness in his chest.  
“I don’t know Mary, I don’t know how we will go on, it seems, beyond understanding, how cruel this world can be.” Mary lifted her head and saw his grey, drawn face. She saw his pain, and she feared it. It took all her strength to take on the mantle of bravery, but she grasped at it, and her tears dissipated, replaced with hard conviction.  
“No, Uncle Archie, don’t you dare. We will get through this, I don’t know how but we will. Colin is strong, we won’t let him disappear again, no matter what.” Archibald smiled sadly, his eyes failing to smile with him, but the darkness in them receding a little.  
“You keep me alive my girl, you really do.” Mary smiled. It was a warm and wonderful feeling, for a girl who had spent most of her childhood so unloved, to feel loved as if by a father. A nurse had brought a second chair for Archibald and both sat down beside Colin’s bed. Archie took his son’s hand and kissed it. “It won't be like last time, I promise.” They watched Colin sleep, his face contorting in dreams and in pain. He murmured unintelligibly, delirious with fever and with the trauma his body had received. Mary stroked his cheek, warming his clammy skin beneath her soft palm.   
“It’s alright Colin, we’re here now. We won’t be going anywhere I promise. We’re going to bring you home soon. You will get well and come home with us, you’re not going to leave us again, not ever, I promise.” Colin groaned, his head turning slightly towards Mary. Archie felt Colin’s hand twitch slightly in his own.   
“Mary,” Archie whispered. “I think he might be waking up.”  
Mary studied Colin’s face but shook her head sadly.  
“I don’t think so Uncle Archie. He’s just dreaming I think, his eyes are moving. Besides, he’s probably still full of morphine.” For several minutes they sat silently, holding Colin in the small ways they could without hurting him. Then Mary whispered.  
“Do you think he knows we’re here? Dr. Craven says that sometimes people can hear you or feel the presence of those they love, even if they are asleep.” Archie studied Colin’s face closely, rubbing his fingers over the back of Colin’s hand.   
“I hope so Mary, I hope so.”

A few hours later Nurse Anderson once again summoned Archie to speak with Dr. Hawthorne. He rose quickly, worried what new bad news this second meeting would bring. He patted Mary on her shoulder, forcing a smile.   
“I’ll be back presently, then I must go to the flat and make sure it’s ready for you.” Mary turned around, concerned.  
“But Uncle Archie, won’t you be staying there too?” Archie nodded.  
“Yes, of course, but I would like to stay here tonight if possible, I don’t like the idea of leaving him alone tonight. Not just yet.” Before Mary could retort, he added “and don’t argue with me about staying, you need food and rest, this is no place for a young lady to spend the night.”  
“But Uncle Archie!” Mary replied, ever obstinate, Archie might be alright pushing himself to the brink of collapse but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to stop him. But then she saw his eyes, he needed this, she saw, he needed to be near Colin. He physically could not let him out of his sight, even for the night. She sighed.  
“Alright, Uncle. But I’m staying until the hospital closes.” Mary had noticed that it seemed the rules of the spinal unit were somewhat less strict than was common in most hospitals, even less strict than the rules in the officers convalescent home where Mary and many of the other young women of the area were volunteers.   
Archie nodded and turned towards Dr. Hawthorne’s office. When he entered Dr. Hawthorne looked quite uncomfortable, as though not sure of what he was about to say. Archie waited with bated breath, unsure what this could mean.   
“Dr. Hawthorne, what seems to be the trouble?” Archie said, sitting across from Dr. Hawthorne once again.  
"I’m sorry to bring you in again so soon, but... you see, I have only just learned of your station, Lord Craven, and of Colin's position as your only heir. Given that information there is something else about his injury that you must know.”  
“Yes, Dr. Hawthorne, what is the matter?”  
“As you are already aware he received a blow to his spine which occurred in the middle of his back which means everything below is almost certainly affected to some degree. This means that unfortunately your son will likely be unable to father children, to produce an heir."   
"What are you talking about? You said it was his legs which were effected."  
"The spinal cord controls all the functions of the body, it allows information to reach the brain. The nerves which control the legs are above the nerves which control the sexual organs, when the former is affected, so is the later."  
“You are sure of this? There can be no children? And there is nothing you can do?”  
“No, anything I’m afraid. I am quite sure. Outside of the miraculous, all we can do is wait and see what he regains.”  
"So there is still hope for him in that regard?"   
"Yes, but mainly because we cannot be entirely sure of the extent of his injuries until we have completed a neurological exam and have waited a few weeks for the shock to wear off. It is highly unlikely that he will be entirely unaffected. I would prepare for the worst." Archibald began to get up and leave, but then stopped, turning again to Dr. Hawthorne.  
“What do you really think will happen to Colin. Will he recover at all? My cousin is a doctor in Yorkshire, he has only seen a handful of spinal injuries but from what he has said, there are dismal survival statistics for these injuries. Doctor, is my son going to die from this?” Dr. Hawthorne folded his hands on his desk.   
“I certainly hope not. I work in conjunction with a Dr. Monroe in Philadelphia and a Dr. Jones in Manchester and we have begun to have great success treating incomplete spinal injuries like your son’s. Dr. Jones will in fact be consulting on his case once he has gotten stronger. There are several things we can put hope in. Do you mind if I am rather blunt, medically?” Lord Craven indicated he was. “The main cause of the eventual death of spinal patients is infection; particularly of the skin and urinary tract. Another is kidney damage, generally caused repeated, aggressive urinary tract infections and by urine backing up into the kidneys. We are doing everything we know to do to prevent bed sores. When an infection has taken hold aggressively there is little which will reliably stop it, we must focus, therefore on prevention. So far, our main problem has been the infection in his feet left over from the conditions in the trenches but the wounds are not deep and the infection seems to be healing well. There is only so much we can do, but if you keep him active he has a good chance of keeping infection at bay. Particularly if we get him mobile as quickly as possible. One of the indicators we have gotten with Colin that his injury is incomplete is that he is voiding his bladder completely. Unfortunately I don't think he feels the need to do it or even knows when he voids but we have determined that urine isn't staying in the bladder after it is emptied or backing up into the kidneys. We have the nurses keeping track of his output and it looks remarkably good particularly considering that he hasn’t even fully regained consciousness yet. I have had some patients with similar injuries to your son who regain some bladder and bowel control along with partial use of their limbs over the course of the first year post injury. I hope that this will happen for your son and I've had some good indications that this is the likely course of his recovery. But even those patients who regain movement and sensation have never recovered enough movement to walk independently, and frankly I don't have any evidence that they have fathered children since their injuries. Truthfully, we know very little about injuries like these. Until recently the initial injury was simply not survivable, we still lose many patients now, hand over fist at the front. Unlike some other doctors I do not believe that injuries like this are not to be treated, or that death from them is inevitable or in the case of your son, even likely. I don't however have any indication that injuries like this are recoverable. His life is going to be different, you will both have to accept that.”  
Archibald stood outside Dr. Hawthorne’s office, out of sight of Mary and the rest of the ward. He slumped against the wall with his head in his hands. He didn't know how he could cope. He hated seeing his son in such pain. He was angry at the restrictions so cruelly placed on his son. He had believed Colin's health to be a miracle, surely God could not be so cruel as to take even the prospect of fatherhood away from his son. How would he even tell this news to Colin. He couldn't remember ever speaking to Colin about the intimacies of marriage, he simply figured whatever gaps boarding school had left him with would be filled either by medical texts or university friends. He didn't even know if Colin had ever even kissed a girl. His prospects for marriage had never been a topic of discussion between the two of them. He couldn't begin to fathom that his now handsome, vibrant, son would never marry. When Colin was a child Archie had hardly given a thought to his son’s marriage prospects, his health had never been good enough for him to imagine his son would even survive childhood. There was part of him which simply did not believe it. His own doctors and even his parents had insinuated for years that no woman would ever want a hunchback like him. That it would be cruel for him to have children who could inherit his condition. But he had never had to grapple with the question of his capability, but rather his prospects. Colin had grown to be a healthy, handsome young man, his prospects had looked promising. But now...it all seemed quite a mess.


	7. Nurse Mary

Archie had gone again to speak with Dr. Hawthorne when a nurse came up to Colin's bed with warm water and towels. “Miss, you may want to step out for a moment, this part can be a bit grim.” Mary stood, her face hardened. “Nurse, if it's all the same to you I would like to stay, I want to learn to care for him. I volunteer with the Red Cross, I know what to expect.” This was only half true, Mary had indeed been volunteering at a convalescent hospital a few miles from Thwaite but she hadn't been allowed to do much more than roll bandages and pour tea for the officers. The nurse looked at her skeptically but nodded to her, handing her the bowl of warm water. She brought back the sheet which covered Colin, revealing his heavily bandaged legs. “There's new bandages in the cart. We're going to wash him, check his catheter and try to get him to use a bedpan -I will have to ask you to leave for that- and change his sheets, then clean and re-dress his other wounds. Then we will turn him so he is lying on his other side, this should help prevent bedsores from forming.” Mary breathed in, Colin looked so weak lying there, asleep, unable even to go to the bathroom by himself. But he was her own blood, she loved him like a brother, and she would not let him be alone in his hour of need. It was so much worse then when he had been an invalid before the garden. Colin had never been the healthiest boy, even after he was no longer an invalid he had been prone to coughs and colds, but Mary had never seen him this weak and broken. She had seen him ill, but he had never seen him so quiet and far away. The nurse was unbuttoning Colin’s pajama top and Mary reached over to assist her in removing the top. It was almost like the night so many years ago when she had pronounced his back “lump-less” but now his chest was that of a man, muscular, and dotted with dark curls. She cringed when she saw that his chest now also harbored numerous cuts and bruises. They gently lifted him so as not to cause further damage to his spine. “It's actually rather good you're here Miss, normally two nurses are meant to do this, but we’re running rather low on staff just now, it's between shifts at the minute. We need to turn him and it's very important that we don't move him too much, his spine is still very susceptible to further damage, the bones themselves won't be completely healed for another two months or so.” Mary had learned to turn a patient but had never done it in such delicate circumstances. Mary held his shoulders, her eyes averted as Nurse Anderson cleaned the wounds on his back and removed the sheets. She couldn’t bring herself to to look at his poor bruised back. Mary turned away briefly as Nurse Anderson cleaned Colin's lower half and changed his clothes. Then she returned to change the bandages on his legs. Mary’s eyes filled with tears when his legs were uncovered. The wounds were clean and the bones were kept straight, but the wounds were still terrible to see. Nurse Anderson was quick and efficient, lifting the leg to replace the bandage. Mary gasped. “Stop! You'll hurt him!” The nurse sighed, and continued to pin the bandage around Colin’s leg. “Oh Miss, has no one told you?” She looked pityingly at Mary.   
“Told me what?” Mary was confused, surely his injuries were excruciatingly painful, this nurse had been so careful with his back, but disregarded the pain his legs were surely in.  
“Your cousin is paralyzed Miss, I'm being careful not to displace the bone while it's setting, but he won't feel any pain from me simply changing his bandage. He can't feel it Miss. I promise you I've caused him no pain.” Mary was beginning to understand, the injury had robbed Colin of sensation as well as movement. She felt silly for not realizing sooner and wiped a tear away. “I'm sorry nurse, I, I suppose I didn't think, he just. I hate to see him hurt.” Nurse Anderson smiled slightly, “it's quite alright, these injuries are always a shock. But I promise I would never deliberately cause him pain.”   
Colin had begun to stir as they tended to him. Mary stroked Colin's forehead comfortingly, his thick dark locks fell messily about his forehead. Colin was muttering something under his breath which Mary couldn't quite understand, something about fire, something about the garden. Suddenly Colin's eyes shot open. His hand found Mary's and he stroked it in disbelief. His eyes were glassy and frantic, his skin was feverish. “The garden! Mary it's burning, it's burning Mary.” Mary clutched at Colin's hands, she didn't know how to calm him. She just whispered “it's alright Colin, the garden is safe. You're safe! It's just a dream! I promise.” Colin began to calm, his mind leaving his dream. He clutched Mary's hand tightly as the nurse gave him a sleeping pill. Soon he was resting quietly and Mary sat back, visibly shaken. Nurse Anderson poured Mary a glass of water, and softly brushed Colin’s sweaty hair from his forehead “they get like that sometimes, poor boys, the war leaves most of them with nightmares, especially early on. They'll pass in time, it will all be much better when his fever’s passed.” Mary drank the water gratefully. It was so unbelievably hard to see Colin like this, to know she could do nothing. She voiced the thought which had grown in her as she had been tending Colin. “This is what I want to do Nurse, when he gets home I mean. He will need so much care, and like you said, it's too much for one nurse. I want to care for him, to make him well!”   
Nurse Anderson studied Mary intently. “It's hard work you know Miss, physically, and emotionally. It takes a good deal of strength, especially to nurse family. And caring for your cousin isn't going to be like nursing someone through an illness. He’ll need round the clock care at first, like an infant, he’ll have to learn how to do just about everything over again. And even when he's recovered he will probably need some form of nursing care for the rest of his life. He may always require help getting dressed, getting in and out of bed even. He’ll be prone to bed sores and other infections. He will have problems with blood circulation and he will probably be incontinent. And then there's the pain, he may struggle with a good deal of pain, possibly for a very long time. And you'll have to be there with him through the hardest transition of his life. He'll be angry at the things he cannot do and he'll likely lash out at whoever cares for him.” She pursed her lips sadly.   
“Many of the men in his condition feel as though they are a burden, it takes them a very long time to accept injuries like these. You'll have to be strong for him at a time when you're still dealing with his injury yourself. You can't let yourself believe that anything you do will make him walk again because ten to one it won't.” Mary hardened herself. She had become an expert at pushing her emotions aside and presenting a strong, hardened exterior, as a child in India. It was a skill she had never lost. She straightened up, standing as tall as she could.   
“I know it’s going to be hard for him, but I want to do it. He needs me, he won’t really trust anyone else. He grew up quite... sheltered, and he hates doctors. If I’m not there for him, I’ll regret it forever.” Nurse Anderson nodded. “Alright, you can start participating in his care tomorrow. But we need you in top shape so I’d like you to go home for the night. You have to take some time to care for yourself too.”  
Mary smiled sadly and nodded, and sat back in the chair near Colin’s bed, taking up his hand again. “Alright, I’ll go as soon as Uncle Archie is finished with the doctor. I don't want to leave him alone.”


	8. The night of June 20, at the London Flat

When Mary reached her room in Archibald's small but comfortable London flat she collapsed on the bed, she hid her face in a pillow and cried like she couldn't ever remember crying before. Her fingers balled the lace throw of the beautifully made bed until her knuckles turned white. She sobbed until her lungs felt like they would burst out of her corset, she couldn't breathe, she gasped and sobbed until she could not cry anymore. Then she lay there, her body still wracked with heavy silent sobs. Mary's tears had almost subsided when she heard a soft knock on the door. She managed to choke out a soft "come in" and a girl entered her room, she was pretty, and couldn't be any older than Mary herself. She wore the plain dress of a servant and had long dark hair braided into a long plait which hung halfway down her back. She carried a tea tray. She put the tray on a small table and came over to Mary offering a handkerchief. There was something wonderfully comforting about her which made Mary collapse into tears again. The girl sat next to Mary on her bed and took her in her arms. She murmured comfortingly into Mary's hair. "Have your tears, Miss Mary, it will all look better tomorrow." Eventually Mary quieted and the girl offered her a cup of tea. "Try and eat something too, he needs you strong." She looked at a portrait of Archibald, Mary, and Colin which stood on the bedside table and murmured. "They both do." Mary sipped the hot strong tea and looked more closely at this girl. She certainly was different from most servants, well except perhaps Martha. And she spoke with a thick accent which Mary couldn't quite place. Russian perhaps? She was darker too, than most English girls. Her eyes were dark brown and her hair was very curly and almost black. Her skin was not nearly the dark colour of the natives in India, but it was certainly a few shades darker than Mary's own alabaster complexion. Her dress was dark, although Mary could not quite tell the color in the darkened room, and she wore a pale apron. She was young enough that her skirt still reached a few inches above her ankles. This meant that she was around Mary's own age. The servant girl had stood, and was retrieving a lace edged nightgown from the wardrobe. Mary's trunk must have been brought up and unpacked while they were with Colin. "Thank you." Mary said softly as she finished her tea and began to pick at the dinner on the tray. “I can wait if you are ready to go to bed if you like, do you need help with buttons or a corset?” Mary wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes, thank you, the dress buttons up the back." Mary took off her coat and hat and stood in front of the mirror as the girl came up next to her with a night dress and dressing gown. She helped Mary change and then unpinned Mary’s hair. She brushed it out, secretly she marveled at the golden locks, so unlike her own wild dark curls. She had never seen such hair, even the girl’s in her village back home who had had blonde hair had never had such straight pale golden locks as Mary’s. Mary smiled sadly at the girl, she needed a friend just now, even if this girl would probably think it extremely strange for a young lady like Mary to speak to her. “What's your name?” Mary asked politely.  
“I'm Rutka, Miss Mary.”   
“I hope you don't mind my asking, but, where are you from? I've never heard an accent quite like yours.”  
Rutka smiled “I'm from Russia, I've been here about six years.” Rutka finished taking Mary’s hair down and braided it loosely to be comfortable as she slept. She patted Mary’s shoulder indicating she had finished. “There, I must leave for the evening in a while so I hoped you would be home from the hospital so I could meet you. I don't want to be forward, but I have never been a ladies maid so I hope you do not mind me... my mother says I go on a bit sometimes.”   
Mary smiled sadly. “No, I love it, honestly I need a little distracting conversation after the day I’ve had.” Rutka laid her brush on the table and faced Mary with a concerned look on her face, “Oh Miss, I’m so sorry,” she faltered slightly and looked down unsure whether to go on. “It is your cousin isn’t it?” She paused again, and continued much more quietly. “Is he very badly injured. When your uncle asked us to make up his room, he said he might need space for a nurse.”   
Mary nodded, wiping her eyes free of the tears which had suddenly sprung to them. “His back was broken, some debris hit him when he was in the field and broke his spine. He won’t be able to walk anymore. He can’t walk, or run, or even just stand in the sunshine ever again!” Her tears began to flow freely again and soon Rutka had gathered her in her arms. “Sha, sha, Miss, it will look better in the morning. Remember, he is safe now, he will come home soon. And maybe his life will be different now yes, but at least he will have a life, he is so lucky to have a life, to have you and his father to love him. That is all he needs.”   
Once Mary had composed herself she pulled slightly away and took Rutka’s hand. “Thank you, I needed that. I think I’m alright now.” She sighed. “I just hope he doesn’t take it terribly hard, he doesn’t deserve this, he’s come so far.” Rutka squeezed Mary’s hand and smiled sadly. “Of course he doesn’t deserve this. No one does. It was war, no one deserves the pain they are dealt, not even in war.” She sighed and looked into Mary’s eyes. “I have a brother, Chaim. He’s 16, a little over five years ago, just after we came to this country, he got very sick, the doctor called it infantile paralysis. He was such an active child, always running and jumping. And then suddenly it was all gone, he lay in bed for weeks, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t walk without support, he still can’t. He probably never will. People like him, and like your cousin, we think they are invisible. People stare, but they try not to see them because it is too painful to see how our own bodies can be broken. But they are here, they are everywhere, going to school, trying to work, just living. Even if he never walks, your cousin will live, he will have a life, a different life, but a life all the same. In such times as this, any life is a blessing.” Mary smiled slightly, she had never heard it put this way but it was true, this was the shame that Colin had felt before he had learned to walk. There was no reason for it, it was simply how people had seen Colin. She hated that there was nothing she could do to make his life easier but she would certainly try. She would fight every minute for Colin to have a normal life.   
Mary realized she had been sitting in silence for several minutes when Rutka started and looked out of the window at the sun, which was beginning to set. She stood hastily.  
“Oh, Miss! I'm so sorry, Shabbos is starting and I must run! I'll send someone up for your tray! If I'm not home by sundown my parents will not allow me to return to work.” Rutka turned and nearly flew down the stairs. Mary was quite confused, having barely understood Rutka's reason for her abrupt departure. She sat silently and picked at her dinner before falling asleep looking at a photograph of Colin and Dickon, their army uniforms crisp, their faces caught in a fit of laughter, and their arms flung around each other in boyish excitement. She slept soundly and dreamlessly, exhausted by the day’s emotional upheaval. When she awoke the next morning, the photo was streaked with tears.


	9. Shabbos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that within the family they are speaking Yiddish, the general Jewish community of the East End in the early 1900s would frequently speak Yiddish among themselves.  
> Yiddish Glossary  
> Yeshiva bokhers: young men who study Torah  
> Shtreimel: the round fur hat worn on special occasions by certain hasidic men  
> Shabbos/Gut Shabbos: the Jewish day of rest from Friday night to Saturday night. Literally ‘good sabbath,’ a sabbath greeting  
> Tayte: father or papa  
> Shul: synagogue  
> Pesachzeit: literally Passover time. The period of preparation for Passover and the 8 days of the Passover holiday.  
> Hamotzi: the Hebrew prayer before eating bread. Roughly translates to ‘blessed is the lord our G-d, who makes wheat products.  
> Minyan: a group of 10 men, over the age of 13, who meet to pray

Rutka walked briskly through the slowly darkening streets. As Rutka reached her own neighborhood the streets became dirtier and poorer looking, so did the people. Many people spoke Yiddish. With the groups of  _ yeshiva bokhers  _ and men in black hats or  _ shtreimels _ walking to the nearest Shul, the groups of secular young Zionists and Bundists arguing in Yiddish over the ideals of communism and Jewish self determination on the steps of tenement buildings, their cigarette’s tiny lights defiantly brightening the darkening streets as  _ Shabbos  _ grew nearer. It could almost have been Poland or Russia rather than the center of London.

Rutka entered her house just as her father was leaving for the  _ shul _ . 

“ _ Gut Shabbos  _ Rutkele” he said in his deep kind voice and he kissed her on the forehead. “ _ Gut Shabbos Tayte _ ” Rutka replied smiling.

Rutka entered the kitchen where her mother was cleaning and setting the table, preparing to light the  _ Shabbos  _ candles as soon as _ Tayte  _ returned. Rutka kissed her mother on the cheek and reached for the stack of plates he mother carried. 

“Let me  _ Mame _ ,” her mother turned to her and saw how tired her daughter looked, there was a sadness about her.

“No, Rutkale you sit, you look as though you've had a very long day. Is the work so hard?” Golda poured a cup of tea for Rutka from the large samovar on the sideboard and began to set the plates on the table. 

“No  _ Mame _ , it isn't so hard. The young lady is quite kind. But today, the new family I work for had such terrible news. They came to London because the son was wounded overseas and brought home to recover. Apparently his injuries were much worse than they were initially told. They say he's permanently crippled. The young lady was beside herself, poor thing.” Little Gabi who had been playing on the kitchen floor hopped up and hugged his big sister. 

“I will never be hurt for you Rutka. I will fight off everything! Even the Cossacks!” Rutka laughed and picked him up, hugging his little body tight. Gabi was the baby of the family, barely four years old, he hadn't even been born when they had left Russia. “You won't be fighting anything Gabi, I won't let you!” She said, kissing his dark curls and straightening the  _ yarmulke _ which always seemed to be in the process of slipping from his head. Golda had finished setting the table and sent Gabi tell his siblings to wash for the Shabbos meal. Golda sat across from her daughter, stirring sugar into her own cup of tea.

“This war,” she sighed “this horrible war.”

“I know,” Rutka replied. She sat silently for a few minutes then asked the question which she had feared to ask. 

“Do we know if Yitzhak is fighting? Have you heard anything from him?”  Her mother shook her head slowly. 

“I don't know if he would even be allowed to say if he was in a letter. And we haven't heard from him since before  _ Pesachzeit _ , I think we have to assume he is. The  _ Tzar _ always did like to send Jewish boys first.” She said bitterly, anger flashing in her green eyes. Rutka breathed out heavily, she had known this was the likely answer but hadn't wanted to accept it. Her mother took her hand and smiled a reassuring smile which did not reach her eyes. “Our Yitzhak is strong, he'll make it. And when the war is over we will bring him here. And Malka too,  _ nu  _ I can’t leave my grandchildren in Russia can I?”

Rutka smiled, tracing the rim of her tea cup with one finger and murmured “ _ Fun zayn moyl in Gots oyer-  _ from your lips to God's ears.”

  
Rutka’s father and Bar Mitzvah aged brothers, 16 year old Chaim and 13 year old Dovid, came in through the thin wooden door several minutes later, their fingers brushing the iron of the mezuzah on the door post. She heard the click of Chaim’s crutches against the wooden floor as he entered the flat and thought of Mary’s cousin, the poor man would face many trials, she knew. Rutka, her mother and her sisters had finished lighting the Shabbos candles in their beautiful brass holders, which her mother had smuggled under her skirt all the way from Kishinev, to Warsaw and finally, to London. They were reclining around the dining table waiting to begin the meal. The family sat around the table and Rutka’s father filled the kiddush cup until it overflowed with sweet red wine. After he recited the ancient words the family drank, then they turned to the two golden loaves of beautifully braided challah. When the ritual washing of the hands was completed her father lifted the bread and recited the benediction “ _Baruch ata Adonai hamotzi lechem min haaretz”_ he broke off a large piece and passed it around. The family ate the warm bread. After this a beaming Mrs. Ludtke distributed bowls of chicken soup with soft, light knaidlach floating in them. Later she brought out a perfectly golden potato kugel and a tray of hearty chicken. By the end of the meal Rutka felt sleepy and contented. She sipped hot tea as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder from her seat next to him. He patted her head lovingly. The warmth of family filled her and she tried to push aside the worries and fears of war. Wherever they were, the rest of her family will have lain down their work for the day of rest. She could only pray that they were safe and warm, at least through what would no doubt be a cold Russian night. 


	10. The Awakening

Colin woke to sun streaming through a nearby window. For the first time in what felt like years, his head was clear. There were a few seconds of confusion, then of joy that the one thing he knew for sure was that he was no longer at the front. He was in a warm bed, with clean white sheets, and the room smelled clinical, without the stench of death. He felt clean and warm, a smile captured his lips, but only for  a moment. Then came the pain, like a brick. His head throbbed and his back felt like it was being wrenched in two. He groaned loudly, startling his father, who had spent the night in a chair next to his bed, awake. A second wave of pain hit, worse even than the first. Tears stung his eyes and he gasped in pain. In an instant his father was by his side, holding his hand. 

“It's alright Colin, you're safe, I promise, you're safe. You're in hospital, but you’re home, everything will be alright.” Colin squeezed his father’s hand trying to catch his breath and say something coherent.

“My back.” He managed to choke out. Archie sighed and sat back down in his chair. Stroking Colin's forehead. 

“I know, Colin, you were hurt very badly I'm afraid.” Colin's grip on his father's hand relaxed a little as he forced himself to think through the fog of pain. He was home, he was injured but he was home. He began to take stock of his body, mentally checking off limbs. Both arms seemed intact, he could see and hear. His breath came normally. He tried to find his legs but could not. How strange, he thought. He was still not fully awake, perhaps his legs were asleep from being in bed for so long. Colin blinked, suppressing a whimper of pain, and stroked his father’s hand. His father was here, he was home, that was all that mattered. 

Nurse Anderson had heard Colin’s cry and came running with his medicine. When she saw him awake she sighed with relief, he was pale, and his face was contorted with pain but his eyes were clear and his cheeks were no longer bright red with fever. 

“It's good to see you awake Private Craven.” She said, smiling. Colin gave a pained smile in return. 

“Don't worry, I have something for the pain, but I don't want to give you too much, because we want to keep you awake for a bit.” She lifted Colin slightly, giving him a drink of water, then she took two small white pills and gave them to Colin. When he had swallowed she placed a thermometer into his mouth and studied her pocket watch while taking his pulse, waiting to read his temperature.  He began to relax quite quickly and smiled at his father.

Nurse Anderson looked pleased as she removed the thermometer, “it's over, his fever’s broken.” Then she spoke softly to Archie, “the doctor needs to examine him as soon as possible. He needs to know at least a little of what is going on so the news isn’t too much of a shock. You should be the one to tell him, sir, I'll give you some time alone before I send for Dr. Hawthorne.” 

Archie and Colin sat in silence for a few moments after Nurse Anderson had left, Archie didn't know how he could bring himself to tell his son how bad his injuries were. But it was Colin who spoke first. He spoke softly, his voice trembling with fear.

“Father, there's something wrong with my legs isn't there? I can't feel them!” Then suddenly images and memories came flashing back. Colin remembered the mangled bodies of men in the field hospital, the limbs blown off by mortar shells. Sometimes back at the front they would find these limbs. Arms and legs stuck in the mud or embedded in trench walls. Sometimes the rotting limbs ended up stuffed into sandbags, making the stench of death almost unbearable along the entire trench line. ‘Oh God’ he thought. Were his own limbs stuck rotting in the mud somewhere near Ypres? Suddenly nauseous, Colin clutched at the blankets, trying to stop himself from being sick. It was too late though, he was already gagging, but his father grabbed the bowl at his bedside in time and held Colin up as he retched. When he was done, Archie lay him down again and gave him a drink of water, wiping his lips tenderly. Tears lept to Colin’s eyes, he had never seen his father so tender, there could only be one meaning to this tenderness. There a look of desperation in Colin’s eyes as he clutched at his father’s hand.

“They cut them off didn't they?” Colin's voice shook, he was near tears. Archie shook his head but Colin knew his father wasn't really telling he was wrong. There was something desperately wrong with him, something vital broken, he just didn’t yet know what it was. 

“Your legs were hurt very badly, but they didn't have to amputate. But, there was a problem with  your back you see... it was hit and was, damage, inside, your spine was broken.” The look in Colin’s eyes told his father that he knew exactly what this meant but Colin still had to ask. He had to know for sure, even if everything his mind and body were telling him said it was true.

“I can't use them anymore can I? That's why my back hurts so badly but my legs don't hurt at all. They're paralyzed, aren't they?! I'm a cripple!” Archie couldn't say anything, he just nodded silently. Colin was too weak to panic, he just lay still as tears ran down his cheeks and he turned his head away. After a few moments Colin turned back to his father.

“Father, please, just tell me, this is permanent isn’t it? I’m right, I know I’m right, there’s nothing they can do for this.” His father’s hands twisted. He couldn’t do this to his son, he just couldn’t. He lay his hand over Colin’s. 

“They haven’t even examined you yet, nothing is certain. And you've only just awakened, nothing will have settled down yet. You can worry about permanence once we know more, now you just rest, your doctor will be here shortly.”

Dr. Hawthorne came in several minutes later. The neurological assessment was a grim affair. First the doctor removed the blanket from Colin's lower half and removed the heavy wooden splints which held the bones of his legs in place. Although Colin clearly didn’t feel anything as Dr. Hawthorne removed the splints and bandages he still had to complete his assessment to map the full extent of Colin’s injuries. Colin remained silent, his expression growing darker each time Dr. Hawthorne probed his legs, asking what he felt, and he felt nothing. Dr. Hawthorne used a small rubber mallet to attempt to make Colin's legs jerk, but the reflexes were completely absent, his legs lay limp and lifeless. Then he and Nurse Anderson turned Colin onto his side, lifting his shirt to examine the injury to his back. The muscles of Colin’s back were taught with pain which accentuated the deep scratches and large purple bruises which marred his pale flesh. There was an enormous angry bruise across the small of his back, Archie winced as the doctor pressed his fingers hard into the lower part of the painful looking bruise. But Colin didn't flinch. The doctor tutted and shook his head. He prodded slightly higher, examining the area closely as though feeling for damage beneath the skin. He moved his hands higher, near Colin's waist, touching more softly, and Colin winced in pain, biting his lip, he nodded, affirming that he could indeed feel the doctors hands. Colin breathed heavily as the doctor examined his upper back and changed his dressings. He seemed exhausted by the time they turned him back onto his back, re-dressed his leg wounds and covered him with a sheet. 

Colin sighed, settling back into his pillows. His face was dark, and held an expression which Archie hadn't seen since before the garden. 

He spoke sharply “Well, you might as well tell me.” Dr. Hawthorne rubbed his temples. “It isn't good I'm afraid. You have minimal sensation and no muscular reflexes below the waist, and unfortunately, in my opinion, that isn't going to change, at least not drastically. The best hope I can give you is that over the next year or so your spinal nerves will recover from the shock of the injury and as the swelling goes down you may regain partial sensation. Unfortunately, with the extent of your other injuries, I don’t think walking will be a possibility, even if you regained full sensation. Which, is almost unheard of in an injury as severe as yours. I’m very sorry.” Colin barely reacted. His face hardened even further. “Luckily, there is no break in your spine, but rather a dislocation and crushing of the bones, which means you will not need surgery, and will probably begin to recover your health fairly quickly. You will probably have some difficulties with personal care which we will attempt to remedy, you still have the use of your arms so you will regain independence if you work at it. It is very important to make sure that you do not develop pressure sores. In these areas you should do fairly well if you are diligent with your care, especially since you do seem to have some sensation in your abdomen. We will work with you to help you gain as much independence you can.” 

Colin's face was impassive. The young rajah looked hard at Dr. Hawthorne and said darkly. 

“But not walking, never walking. By ‘independence’ you mean I could maybe push my own wheelchair or care for myself without complete dependence on a nurse. That's not living, that's barely surviving, I should know.” Colin was shaking violently, his eyes looking daggers at the doctor. Archie crouched next to his son, holding his hand. Colin looked helplessly at his father. 

“You must try and stay calm Colin, you know that's not true, you will have a life, a good life, I know you will. I promise.” Colin was still shaking and there were tears in his eyes as he whispered.

“Father, please don't make promises you've no idea how to keep.” Archie hugged his son close, for the first time he was the strong one.

“I do know Colin, I'm not going to let you disappear again. This time you're going to live, and whatever that life looks like, I'm going to make sure you're happy. And that you're cared for. Do you really think for a second that Mary would let me do any less?” Colin gave a watery smile.  Thinking of the fiery child who had pushed him out of his illness. 

“I know. I just... Why did it have to be this? Of everything that could have happened over there, why did it have to be this?” Archibald shook his head, he had no answer for his son. They sat in silence for many minutes, and when Archibald looked back at his son, the young man had fallen into a restless sleep.


	11. In the Hospital

Mary opened the ward door quietly and found Archie sitting by Colin’s bed. The two men were silent. Archibald stood and laid a hand on Mary’s shoulder. He patted her shoulder silently and turned to leave. Seeing his dark expression, one of the nurses gave him a soft smile.

“I’ll find you a cup of tea sir, you can wait outside for a while if you like.” Archibald nodded politely and left.

Mary gave Colin a soothing smile and took Archibald’s place beside his bed. She stroked his cheek softly, then took his hand and tried to look as cheerful as possible.

“Hello, Colin. Are you feeling a little less groggy?” Colin’s chapped lips parted slightly and he nodded.

“May I have some water please?” Mary turned and poured a small glass from the jug on Colin’s bedside table. She put her arm around Colin’s neck, lifting him slightly so he could drink. When he was done, Colin lay still a moment, his eyes closed, his lashes making dark circles on his cheeks. At first Mary thought he had gone to sleep, but then his eyes opened, and they were clear. He reached his hand out and grasped Mary’s.

“Did they tell you?”

She folded his hand in hers, “yes, they did Colin.” Tears leapt to his eyes and he breathed deeply, trying to repress them.

“Oh Colin, it will all look better soon!” she wasn’t sure she believed that yet, but she knew she somehow had to convince Colin that he would have a life.

“We will get you back to Misselthwaite as soon as you are well enough to travel.” This only seemed to make Colin’s face grow darker however.

“I don’t want to be stuck in that house again for the rest of my life! I can’t walk about the grounds, or drive into town, or ride about the moors. I can’t work, not even in the garden. I can’t even walk downstairs to the library! The simplest things! I can’t even sit up on my own. I can’t even...” He cut himself off sharply. Mary furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him with concern.

“You can tell me, it’s better to talk than keep it all inside.”

Colin’s cheeks reddened slightly. “This is very difficult...”

Mary was slightly confused. “Whatever is the matter Colin? You can tell me, I promise I shan’t be shocked.” Colin looked away and spoke in a whisper.

“Please don’t tell anyone, not even Dickon. Promise.”

“I promise” Mary replied softly. Colin spoke almost inaudibly.

“I can never be a proper heir to my father.” It took Mary a moment to understand, but when she did, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her, tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away angrily.

“Oh Colin, I didn’t realize, oh I should have known, it must have been obvious to anyone with a brain, but I didn’t think. I’m sorry Colin.” Colin turned his head away, a look of disgust on his face. Seeing his pain, Mary quickly composed herself.

“You’ve heard the worst of it, now leave me alone.” Mary pursed her lips, sighing at the young Rajah.

“You don’t honestly think you’ll get rid of me that easily do you?” Colin’s face remained hard and impassive, his lips were a thin line of defiant silence.

“Well if you’re not going to talk, just listen. I know this all seems so very dark now. But you’re home, perhaps you will never walk but at least you will have a life. So many won’t. We love you, and we'll make sure you have a life, the best life you can possibly have. There is no reason you can’t work, it just might look a bit different now. And as for having a son... your father will love you whether you can give him an heir or not. There is no point in dwelling upon what you might not be able to do, you must focus on what you can do. You must find the thing that only you can do.”

“What can I do like this? What can I ever do?” He was angry, but so tired he couldn’t continue the conversation. He turned his head away from Mary, the only real movement he could make.

“I’m tired, please go away. I want to be alone.” Mary’s heart hurt, he was closing himself away, and she didn’t know how to bring him back. She saw the tears pricking at his eyes and felt them threatening the corners of her own. She took a deep breath to compose herself, then spoke calmly, but firmly.

“You can sleep all you like, you need your rest. But I’m not leaving, Colin, I won’t leave you alone like this.” Colin grunted, refusing to make eye contact with Mary.

“Do whatever you like Mary, I don’t care.” They sat in silence for many minutes, Mary did not force Colin to speak, but like she promised, Mary did not leave until Colin fell asleep.

 

**Colin POV**

I slept for the rest of that day, and most of the night, waking only when nurses came to turn me in bed every few hours and try and get me to eat various forms of bland food. I remained quite tired for several days, doing very little, and too tired even to engage in conversation most of the time.  Only now am I beginning to have the strength to do anything but lay silently in bed. I asked Mary to bring me pen and paper, and have begun writing here of my experiences in hospital, although even the effort of writing has so far proved quite exhausting because I cannot sit up in order to hold the paper steady. But I am trying all the same as there is dreadfully little else I can do to pass the time.

I awakened early this morning, at dawn, as the night nurses were handing over to the day nurses. Mary and my father had not yet come to visit, no one in the ward was awake save myself. I finally had some time to think without prying or pitying. I lay there, watching the sunrise, seeing the light from the window across the room slowly change. I thought about how far I had come, the mad journey which led me to be stuck in this god forsaken hospital bed. I was at the front for over a month, in a field hospital with trench fever for two weeks and back at the front for just over three weeks before I was wounded. Just over two months all together. Two months in a hell of mud and blood. And now I'm back in England, as helpless as when I was ten years old. Well over a week on, and they won't even let me sit up because they're afraid it would damage my spine even more. My doctor warned me it could be months before this simple movement would be safe again. Truly, it is worse than when I was a child, I can't even turn over in bed when I like, a nurse comes to do it for me every few hours. I am in true pain all the time, not the kind of pain I had as a child from weak, unused muscles and hysteria, but the real, horrible pain of crushed bones, screaming nerves, and ruined muscles. I don’t feel pain in my legs exactly, or at least not how I would expect the pain from a badly broken leg to be. It is very strange because I can _feel_ nothing in my legs. Yet sometimes I get this strange burning, tingling sensation, or a stab of pain in my lower back, below where I can actually feel. I know it is not a sign of recovery, because when I touch where the pain is I feel nothing. Yet the strange pain persists. Dr. Hawthorne says it is a miscommunication of nerves which are no longer connected to each other. My brain is constantly trying to find my legs, and gives me pain when it cannot. Apparently, it is quite like when a limb is cut off and the person can still feel the limb long after it has been amputated. Besides this pain, above my injury my back is in excruciating pain, and my muscles are all very stiff and weak from my continuous stay in bed. They have been giving me morphine for this pain but it makes me tired and woozy, a feeling I quite despise. But now they are tapering off the morphine in order to allow me to recover some strength, and my suffering only grows as my mind becomes clearer. And they put me through such indignities! I am glad I can't feel half of it.

A woman had never once seen me undressed as a man before and now there are nurses (most barely older than I) washing me, turning me in bed every few hours, helping me in the most private ways. It's humiliating and there is nothing I can do to stop it. At night though, when the terrors take hold, I am glad for the nurses. In a haze of memory, exhaustion, and the final dregs of morphine I am transported back to the front and am tormented by such strange dreams. I replay the long hours in the shell hole with Dickon, that eternity of pain and blood. I walk past waves of dead men marching. They call to me, their faces bloody, their limbs burned and their entrails falling from their bellies. Their blackened fingers reach out and grab at me. Several times I have awoke screaming, but a kind sister is always there with a comforting hand. There are three nurses on rotation, two at a time, caring for about a dozen men, all facing similar injuries to my own. Already I can tell that most are far worse off than me, most do not waken much during the day. From what I’ve heard of the nurse’s and doctor’s conversations several of the men have kidney damage or are fighting other infections. It’s easy to believe, many are too sick even to wake, and when they do wake, they do not speak much. I have spoken for short periods with the men near me, but there is little for us to speak about, and we have little energy to waste on idle chatter. The ward is quiet mostly, even I am too tired to talk much. I am the only one who has daily visitors, my father comes for several hours a day, he often reads aloud to me, as I find trying to hold a book quite tiring. Often, though, we are both fairly content to sit in silence. I can see such pain in his eyes, and I know it is a pain mirrored in my own. Mary stays nearly all day, and sometimes well into the night. She has become quite a nurse to me as of late. She doesn’t seem to mind the bloody bandages or soiled bedpans, and doesn’t even seem to mind having to do the simplest things for me like turning me in bed. I wish I could say I am the model patient, but sadly I can’t. The pain, and the knowledge that I am now crippled often makes me angry and snappish. But Mary has never taken what Mrs. Medlock used to call my ‘guff’ so when I get angry at my condition she is often able to make me see sense.  Half of me hated that she had to see me like this, that she had to deal with my pain, my broken body and erratic emotions, but half of me knew I would rather have Mary tend to me than anyone else. Although we are only cousins, over the years growing up together we have grown as close as siblings, I can truly say I love her as though she were my sister. She has so quickly put aside her own life to care for me, and I have complete respect for her because of it. All of these women who have put aside their own lives to work in a stuffy hospital full of injured and dying men are really the angels in white which the war office depicts. It is perhaps the only truth that office shows. Mary is coming now with clean bandages and a cup of tea made strong and milky, just how I like it. She is smiling broadly, even in this dark place. She doesn’t mind moving my legs for me to change the bandages or propping me up to drink the tea. She just does it, as though it is nothing, as though it is normal. And god in heaven I love her for it.

Mary was about to turn away to dispose of the dirty bandages when I grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Mary, I haven’t asked yet... I haven’t been brave enough... but no one has told me anything about Dickon yet. Have you heard anything?” I turned my head towards her, already feeling the tears of desperation in the corners of my eyes.  I rubbed my fingers softly, pleadingly, against Mary’s palm.

“I keep trying to remember what happened, if he was alright, but I can't seem to remember. Please, if you have heard anything, just tell me. No matter what it is. I can handle it.” Mary folded the towel she was holding and put down the tray of bandages before sitting on the edge of my bed. She had been changing the bandages around my legs and back and cleaning the areas where there was the most danger of bed sores. “We don’t know much more than you do really, only that he was injured at the same time you were, but it sounded as though he was recovering in France. There wasn’t much indication as to how bad it was but... Well anyway, we have every reason to hope.” She gave a small but encouraging smile and clasped my hand. I gave her a pained smile back, knowing how difficult and painful her cheerfulness was. I had long suspected that the relationship between my cousin and my best friend was no longer completely innocent, but hearing the way Dickon had talked about Mary when we were at the front had convinced me. His eyes would brighten when we spoke of her, he would smile slightly and run his hand through his ruddy curls, looking almost sheepish. And I’m almost sure he kept her picture and one of her letters in his breast pocket, he would touch it lightly whenever we were in an especially dangerous situation as though to gain strength or luck. I never said anything to him, I can understand why they would like to keep their relationship secret, as Dickon could easily lose his position if anyone found out. It was something which simply was not done, this love between the niece of a lord and his gardener. I still had hope for them though, if anyone could break this most basic social code and succeed it was Mary. I smiled again, giving her hand a small squeeze.

“He’ll come home, Mary. I’m sure he will. If I made it back without hardly knowing it, I’m sure he can make it home too. And when he does we will all be together again, just like...” I couldn’t bring myself to lie and say it would be just like before the war. It wouldn’t be. It couldn’t be. I’m confined to bed for God knows how long, for all I know Dickon could be in no better shape than me. Mary seemed to read my thoughts. She smiled, but there was a look of fierce determination in her eyes, when she replied.

“I know it won’t be like before the war, Colin. But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make it just as good.” I returned her smile, nodding slightly.

“Well I won’t get in your way.” I replied.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She said, laughing slightly and patting my shoulder.

“Let me get rid of these dirty things and then I’ll sit with you awhile. Would you like me to read to you for a bit?” I nodded, settling somewhat more comfortably into my pillows. She disposed of the bandages, and brought another cup of tea for each of us, a few biscuits, and a copy of Gogol's _Dead Souls._ A book which was rather dark for Mary’s tastes but which had been a long time favorite of mine. Mary didn’t seem to mind reading from it though, and her soft voice soon lulled me into a doze despite the material. The rest of the day was the now normal blur of doctors, nurses, and blocks of time with nothing to do but sit with my own thoughts. The next morning, the telegram came.


	12. Chapter 12: Dickon's Visit

**Dickon’s Visit**

A letter came from Dickon only a few days later. It had gone to Misselthwaite originally but Martha forwarded it to the London address. It was short and to the point.

_“Mary, I'm sure Colin has come back to England by now. He was hurt bad, I’m in a field hospital in XXXX XXX XXXXX but I'm fine. They're gonna give me leave. I'm coming home. I'll be in London in a few days.”_

Mary had never been more relieved in her life. Dickon was alive, he was coming home to her.

 

**Colin POV**

The nurse had just given me my breakfast and finished washing me and changing my clothes, getting me ready for the doctor's morning visit and the arrival of Mary and my father. I was beginning to be able to lift my arms enough to partially feed myself, but my back was still so stiff and painful that I couldn't lift my arms above my head and I was still not able, or allowed, sit up properly. Once I tried to sit up alone, although being on flat bed rest I was not supposed to, but I found it useless, I couldn’t do it. My arms were too tired and the muscles in my abdomen, although I could still feel them, didn’t want to cooperate. Even if I had been able to sit up and feed myself, it wasn't as though I wanted to eat much anyway, the helplessness I felt seemed to have robbed me of appetite. I was still trying to figure out how my body would work now. It didn't seem to work all that well. The whole ordeal left me listless, weak, and anything but hungry.

Mary and the nurses were driving themselves to distraction trying to coax food into me. Despite their best efforts, I was losing weight quickly, and my muscles, particularly those in my legs, were wasting from my extended stay in bed. From what little of my body I could see while lying flat on my back in bed I got the image of a gaunt, skinny frame, everything I had worked for nearly the last decade to rid myself of. What made me feel more helpless was that since I had woken up I had discovered that it was not only my legs which didn't work. I couldn’t properly feel when I needed to use the toilet. I couldn’t feel anything. Shortly after I woke up, my father came with Dr. Hawthorne to tell me that I could never be properly married or father children. I couldn’t fully control my basic bodily functions. I couldn’t even feel if my legs were injured, the most basic feeling in the world, pain, was all but gone. It took everything I had not to fall completely into the dark despair which I felt growing in my chest. I wanted to give up. I couldn’t imagine giving up. I didn’t want to die, I just don’t yet know how to live like this.

Suddenly, I heard a sound from the doorway, then a beautifully familiar voice saying. “Please, you've got to let me see him.” I got the nurse's attention.

“Please let him in, it's Dickon, I need to see him. We...we were at the front together.” Nurse Anderson nodded,

“Alright lad, but not for too long. You shouldn't tire yourself.” As soon as nurse Anderson let Dickon into the ward, he ran straight for my bed. His right arm was heavily bandaged and there was a deep gash across his left cheek, I could tell it would leave a scar. I could see he wanted to launch himself towards me for an enormous hug, but thankfully he restrained himself. I didn't think my body could handle the sudden motion of one of Dickon's bear hugs. Instead he slowly and gently gathered me into a warm embrace as best he could with one arm bound to his chest. I was almost in tears with the relief of seeing him well and home, but I still saw Nurse Anderson come up behind him and put a warning hand on his good shoulder.

“You mustn't move him.” She said somewhat sternly. Dickon gently laid me back on my pillows. Nurse Anderson needn't have worried. Dickon was the gentlest man I had ever met. Dickon knelt by my bed and clasped my thinning hands in his strong ones.

“Colin, tha muss tell me it ain't true. In the shell hole tha was screamin’ as tha couldn't feel thy legs. That tha couldn't move ‘em. It ain't true is it? Tha art feeling better now isn't tha?” I could feel my face grow dark, I didn't want to tell him, but I managed to whisper,

“It’s very true I'm afraid Dickon. I seem to have hurt my back. It's...it’s permanent.” I breathed in sharply forcing myself to say the words I didn't fully even believe myself yet.

“I won't be able to walk anymore.” I struggled to say those words, somehow saying them made it more real. Dicken’s big blue eyes filled with tears, I'd never seen him cry before. His voice shook as he spoke.

“It can't be, it's not possible. Tha’s got to walk again, tha’s just got to.” I shook my head sadly. I struggled to remove the blanket from my legs. As much as I wanted to I couldn't deny that they lay, stiff, and lifeless, as though they weren't connected to my body anymore. Dicken pulled the blanket back the rest of the way and stared at my motionless legs. His hand traced my knee in sad bewilderment. My right leg was bound in a splint, but the left was free except for bandages around my foot, but it was as motionless as my splinted leg, it was completely limp and numb. It was bizarre, to see his hand touching me and feeling absolutely nothing.

I whispered sadly “the wires are cut.” Repeating a phrase I remembered Dr. Hawthorne saying to the 16 year old boy in the bed next to mine. The young soldier had lied about his age to the recruitment office and been shot on a raid days after arriving in France. The boy had died later that night. His upper back was broken, he couldn’t move his hands or his legs, and he was fighting a horrible infection which gripped his kidney and the wound on his back. When the nurses changed his dressings I could smell the putrid pus and rotting flesh. He was gripped by a fever and could hardly breath. The night after he arrived I listened as his breaths rattled in his chest, slowed, then stopped. He was gone by morning. It was horrible to hear, no one can forget the death rattle after they have heard it. What made it even worse was that I was unable to move from my bed to comfort him, I could only whisper to him softly as he died. He was alone, so desperately alone. No one should be allowed to die alone. No one.

Dickon spoke again, bringing me out of my memory and my pain.

“An there's nothin’ they can do?” he asked. “In this big hospital, nothin’ they can do?” I shook my head, it was useless to hope, I couldn’t let Dickon hope. He would run with that hope until it consumed both of us.

“No, nothing really. The doctor said I might regain ‘partial sensation’ and a little movement if I'm lucky. But not enough to walk, or stand, or...” I cut myself off abruptly, I felt my face reddening slightly, I was about to say ‘or piss or shit on my own, or sleep with a woman’ but couldn't quite bring myself to tell Dickon the truth about these more private losses. I looked down and simply said softly.

“He said there was nothing he or anyone else could do that would make me walk.” Dickon rubbed his temple with his good hand.

“Dammit Colin, it should be me lyin’ there, not you. It's not fair! Tha jumped on top of me! It should have been me!” I couldn't well move enough to grab Dickon, to shake him and show him how wrong he was. Instead I put on my best rajah expression and looked daggers at him and grabbed his hand.

“No, don't you dare blame yourself Dickon. It was my choice to join up, besides, if we hadn't jumped in that hole there'd be nothing left of either of us.” I must have frightened him because he quieted and sat silent. The silence was heavy so I tried to change the subject, I shifted as much as I could and looked in concern at Dickon's heavily bandaged arm.

“How's your arm? To be honest it looks quite bad.” Dickon fingered the bandage, still in shock.

“It's nothin’ really Colin.” I noticed that Dickon couldn't stop looking at my legs. I felt almost betrayed somehow, Dickon had always treated me so normally, as though neither class nor disability could divide us. But now the guilt he felt was threatening to draw a wedge between us. I couldn’t let it, Dickon was too important to me, our relationship was so strong, almost like brothers, I don’t think I could bare to lose it, especially not now.

“Please Dickon, don't stare at them like that. It's no different than when you first met me, I couldn't walk then and we were still friends. You never stared.” I looked down at my legs sadly, and almost whispered, “you were the only one who never stared.”

Dickon finally raised his head and looked me square in the eyes.

“I'll never stop bein’ thy friend. I'd go to’ ends o’ th’ earth for thee, Colin, tha knows that.” I felt hot tears behind my eyes as I grasped Dickon's hand.

“I know, and truthfully I'm going to need you. I don't know how my life will look now. I wish this never happened but there's nothing I can do to change it. I don't know how to live like this.” Dickon had a look of desperate hope in his eyes.

“Maybe tha won’t have t’. The doctors said before as thee wouldn’t walk an’ tha walked. Maybe if we get thee in to’t garden again, do the exercises. Maybe tha could walk if tha worked at it.” Suddenly I was angry and shook my head at Dickon.

“Don’t you understand Dickon? That part isn’t like last time. I can feel it, or more I can’t feel it. The doctor said my right leg is broken in three places, I'm lucky they didn't hack it off, and so is my left ankle. The pain should be unbearable, but it doesn’t hurt, my back hurts like hell, but my legs don’t hurt a bit. When you touched me just then, I didn’t feel anything. I can’t feel them. I can’t move them. It doesn’t matter what I do, spinal nerves can’t regrow themselves. They don’t heal like bone or muscle. I have to accept that, I’ve no idea how I’m meant to accept that but I am going to have to or I'll go mad with wishing. But wishing won’t help. Magic won’t help. This is how it is now. I can't let myself live on false hope, I just can't. I couldn’t bare it.” The angry tears I had tried to suppress pricked my eyes as I watched Dickon’s shoulders slump in sadness and disappointment. I hated how quick to tears I was nowadays, but the combination of constant pain and heavy doses of medication had chipped away at my ability to control my emotions. I wiped my eyes angrily. Dickon put a comforting hand on my shoulder and I nuzzled into it like one of Dickon's creatures. I was exhausted and broken down, suddenly there was no more strength left in me to fight against the deep loss I felt. Dickon was so wonderfully comforting, he always had been, even after the horrors of war he remained the warmest, kindest soul I knew. I cried silently, whispering into Dickon's big, strong hand.

“Why? Why did this have to happen to me. Why did we have to go and fight this stupid, stupid war?” With his own arm immobilized across his chest Dickon couldn't pull me into the bear hug which he clearly wanted. He simply held my cheek, it was then I realized he was close to tears himself.

“The war tore down better men than us. Tha’s like my brother, remember that play tha read to me about King Henry goin’ int’ battle? We’re like a band of brothers you and I. No matter what, we’ll get through this together.” I wiped the tears from my eyes, forcing a slight smile.

“For he today who sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother.” I quoted. Dickon entwined our fingers, clasping our hands firmly together.

“From this day t’ut endin’ o’ the world.” Answered Dickon. There would be no ‘happy few’ in this war, coming home to banners and glory. But we would all share something, every man who fought in those desolate trenches would share something. A shared pain, shared wounds, a shared heartache. And each night when we went to sleep, we would share our nightmares, until the day we died.

 

Dickon joined my small group of daily visitors, and I could not be gladder for it. He knows just what to say, and seems to have quickly gotten over his awkwardness around me. We read the newspaper, and talk about friends still at the front. Far more than either Mary or my father, Dickon always pushed me to do small things for myself. Just lifting a cup or feeding myself was a challenge, but with precious little else within my control, having someone force me to do these small things felt like a blessing.

About a week on, Dickon came traipsing into the ward again, an enormous grin on his face. With his one good arm he was pushing a strange contraption, which looked somewhere between a baby carriage and a stretcher.

“Colin! Dr. Hawthorne said it would be alright to bring you out into the hospital grounds today!” I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to go through the pain and trouble of being moved from my bed, but the sun was pouring brightly in from the windows and the ward was stiflingly hot in the summer heat. I smiled as confidently as I could manage and sighed.

“It’s about time I got out of here, get Mary and the nurse and lets go.”

Mary and Nurse Gold lined the spinal carriage with soft pillows and Nurse Gold brought in a back brace to further protect my spine from the shocks of movement. She rolled it under my body, clasping the heavy leather straps around my chest. It was uncomfortable, but not nearly as much so as the brace I had been forced to wear as a child. Nurse Gold then moved a sheet under the length of my body and brought in two orderlies to lift me into the carriage. This was fairly painful, and I felt rather dizzy afterwards, but the carriage was comfortable and it did feel rather wonderful to be out of bed. It had been approximately a month since I was injured, I’d been half unconscious for much of it, but now I’ve begun to feel quite restless, despite my persistent physical exhaustion.

Mary and Dickon joined me as I was wheeled down the hall to an elevator, which I was glad of, being bounced down the stairs sounded anything but pleasant at this point. We were lead to the back of the hospital which opened into a small, green courtyard shaded by several large trees. My father was already outside, sitting at a table laid with sandwiches and tea. I raise my hand, waving it slightly and giving my father a half smile. Mary wheeled me further onto the veranda until I was directly under a bright patch of sunlight.

I raised my face to the sun, feeling wonderfully warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks. I sighed deeply, feeling wonderfully content, I felt Mary come up next to me to squeeze my hand and softly stroke my cheek.

“It’s a lovely day to have your first day out isn’t it?” I nodded slowly, taking in the trees and flowers. The grounds were fairly plain, with large trees around the perimeter fence for shade and many small bushes, some in bloom with pretty blue and purple flowers. Nothing like the splendor of the Secret Garden in full summer bloom, but after months of trenches and hospitals, it was heaven. We ate mostly in amicable silence, after about an hour, I fell asleep with the sun shining on my face.


	13. Author's Note (New chapter tomorrow)

AN: At this point I feel that I should make some notes about historical accuracy. I’m a history student so accuracy is extremely important to me. This story is heavily researched both medically and historically. I have read Victorian medical texts on spinal injuries and texts chronicling wartime medical practices. All of the locations, other than those created by F.H. Burnett, are real. For example, King George’s Military Hospital where Colin is located existed, and was in fact the largest military hospital in England and was indeed located on Stamford Street in London, although I do not know of any neurologists there treating spinal injuries. Historical events such as the trench warfare in the first chapter, the bombings of London, and the Kishinev pogrom all happened and were certainly as, or more horrific than I describe here. Real people died in these situations, people who were neither very different than us, or very different from these characters. It is important even a century later, to remember that the numbers we see in history books represent real people, people with lives, and hopes and dreams not unlike our own. For this reason I strive to stray as little as possible from the facts of the events I depict here, I do not need to embellish their horror or make up events to fill space for these events demand accuracy in their retelling. Even the description of the child killed in the Kishinev pogrom is accurate, several children, their names lost to history, including an unnamed twelve year old girl were killed in the 1903 pogrom. Fifty people were killed in the 1903 pogrom and over 500 were wounded. After the October Manifesto in 1905, 19 more Jews were murdered, and over 50 were injured in a second pogrom, these spurred mass immigration. The story depicted here is as accurate as I can possibly make it, although precise facts about where the bombs fell during the day of July 7, 1917 are hard to pinpoint, though most fell on the East End, and thus terrorized the poorest and most desperate Londoners. What I can tell you is that the bombing took the lives of 57 people and injured nearly 200 others. And that when Gotha bombers broke through the bright summer sky on that lazy Saturday, a young man did the most human and yet the most heroic thing in the world. He didn’t run away from the flames, but towards them. I have placed Rutka’s brother Chaim in the place of a young office clerk, who witnessed the bombing, and later wrote:

“{there was} a blinding flash, a chaos of breaking glass, and the air thick-yellow dust and fumes. Five men had been struck by bomb fragments and a boy of my own age, also hit, died in the afternoon. Outside was a terrible sight, the horses twisted and mangled...the front of the office next door, which had caught the full force, blown clean away. They brought into our building people from the ruins there and I helped to carry them – it was a relief to do something. All the unfortunates had ghastly wounds. I had never seen a dead man before and I was too dazed to realise until afterwards that they must have been stone dead. A fireman, with his axe, put the last horse out of its anguish. The curious thing is that I did not hear the bomb at all and yet I was quite deaf for three days.”

I know how horrid it is to just get an author's note. I promise the next chapter will be up within a day.


	14. Bombing Campaigns: July 7, 1917

 

**Rutka POV**

_ The first bombing as a shock. But that was two years ago, back in the spring of 1915, now it seemed, the bombings had slowed, and we started to believe that perhaps, the German zeppelins had found better targets. How wrong we were. _

Rutka barreled into the kitchen, her dark eyes wide and frantic.

“Mama! Where’s Chaim?! Where is he Mama?!” Golda looked up from her pot of  _ cholent  _ a moment before they heard the first gunfire. A look of horror passed over Golda’s face, a look only a mother could have which represented a fear only a parent could know. 

“ _ Got in himmel,  _ Rutka he isn’t with you?” Rutka was half in tears, and her mother had gone completely white, but she pulled herself inward and hardened herself. She had other children to protect. 

“Rutka, help me get the children into the cellar.” Rutka felt her mother’s hand on her back, pushing her out of the kitchen. The younger children had been playing in the courtyard, but eight year old Tzipporah had gathered her siblings and brought them inside, the small, white faced group stood at the door. In the front room, the only room which had enough light to read by on  _ shabbos _ , Dovid and her father kissed their prayer books and walked towards the door as well. 

“Come children, let’s wait it out downstairs.” Her father was calm, collected, but firm, just as he had been in Russia. Before... When the men came... As they climbed down the stairs, Rutka carrying little Gabi on her hip, she saw her father’s lips moving slowly in prayer. Rutka remembered the way her father’s lips had moved in a sad, silent  _ kaddish _ after what had happened in Kishinev. She remembered the broken shops and destroyed houses, she remembered how her father had brought her close to his side, covering her eyes as they walked home past the rows of bloodied and battered corpses in the town square, the men’s body’s swathed in blood stained prayer shawls. She remembered the tears in his eyes and the hitch in his breath as they had passed the body of a small girl, perhaps twelve years of age. She remembered walking through the door to her house, and seeing her mother’s flowers trampled and her prized front windows smashed. And she remembered the words painted on their door in pig’s blood, two words: “Christ Killers.”

When they reached the cellar, joining the rest of the families in their building, most observant Russian Jews like themselves, Rutka’s mother took her aside.

“Alright Rutka, what happened? I thought you and Chaim were going over to Aaron and Fayge’s flat to help with the new baby.” Rutka swallowed, her voice shaking slightly as she spoke. 

“We were, but when I got there Chaim said he was too tired to climb the stairs, he said he’d wait for me by the docks, but when I went to look for him he wasn’t there... then I heard the planes and...” She was crying now and her mother took her in her arms.

“I couldn’t find him! I couldn’t protect him, just like back home! I was supposed to protect him, it’s all my fault!” Golda rubbed her daughter’s back soothingly.

“You started this war, Rutkale? You made your brother stubborn and willful? You are not G-d, child. You cannot choose what men do.” Rutka smiled sadly at her mother, hugging her tight. 

“We need him safe mama,” Rutka’s voice was pleading, Golda nodded.

“I know, and I pray he will be,” She looked straight into her daughter’s eyes.

“There have been many times I have put my children in G-d’s hands. And he has always kept you safe my child. Always.” As she spoke the last word, she looked at the ceiling as though commanding G-d to grant her children safety just one more time.

**Chaim POV**

Damn this stupid war. Damn tradition. Damn my stupid legs, Chaim thought. He had managed to give his elder sister the slip and was now walking towards Chiswell Street to meet with one of the men from the socialist youth group Chaim had secretly joined who worked in one of the offices on Chiswell Street, just outside where most of the East End Jews lived. He stopped for a moment and leaned heavily on his crutches as he pocketed his  _ yarmulke  _ and tucked his  _ tziztis _ into his trousers as he reached the outskirts of the Jewish section of the East End. He couldn’t fight back if anyone decided to make an example of him. Chaim had learned at a young age that it was better not to look like a Jew. It wasn’t that he hated being Jewish, not exactly. He loved how close his family was, he loved speaking Yiddish, he loved the passion of the new youth movements. He just had trouble believing in G-d. How could a G-d who loved the Jewish people allow the Tsar to oppress and kill them? How could a loving G-d make him so... broken. He sighed, slowly continuing forward on his crutches. He hadn’t been completely lying when he told Rutka that his legs were aching. They were, particularly his bad leg, he often spent Saturdays in bed to let my muscles recover from a week of walking, but now the muscles were aching from his continuous attempts to make the paralyzed limb work for him. But at least according to his doctor, it never would, the disease had ripped its way through his nerves and muscles, making even these short walks a painful ordeal. He finally made his way to the office where his friend Abe Cohen worked as a clerk. He pushed open the door and began hauling himself up the stairs when he heard the first rumble of the airplanes. It seemed directly overhead and it caused such noise and shaking that Chaim had to clutch the rickety stair rail or else risk falling. It took only moments for the first explosion to hit. As the first bomb struck, the front windows blew out and with the second the door was blown off its hinges, splinters of wood flying around the landing. Chaim dropped to his knees, clutching the stairs and waiting for the next explosion. When it came, there was no doubt that it was less than a block away. There was a shuffling of chairs and loud voices from upstairs and men started pouring down the stairs threatening to trample Chaim. 

“Abe!” Chaim called out trying to grab hold of his crutches, he could only grab one before the other was kicked down the stairs and into the foyer. 

“Chaim! What are you doing here?” Abe grabbed Chaim’s arm and threw it over his shoulder to help him down the stairs.

“I was looking for you... the essay you gave me I thought we could talk.” The two young men made their way out into the street, joined by their mutual friend Quinn who worked at a nearby dry goods store, and had just begun to make their way to shelter in the nearest tube station when the final bomb fell.

It was a direct hit. The building in front of the boys exploded.

All three were blown backwards. Chaim’s ears rang with the whistling sound of the bombs as he found himself on his back, with a pain in his head and the wind knocked out off him. The sky was full of thick smoke and yellow dust, fumes, and flames. People were running, and the street was in complete confusion. The injured and dying were screaming and several badly injured horses joined in their death songs. 

Chaim slowly sat up, his chest ached,  his head was spinning, and his ears were ringing, he looked around slowly, taking in the carnage. Abe lay next to him, clutching his arm and screaming. Chaim’s stomach lurched when he saw the bits of wood and glass embedded there. When he turned to Quinn, his stomach felt as though it had dropped from his body. Quinn’s green eyes were wide open, his mouth was slack and a trickle of blood flowed from his mouth and more blood was flowing onto the ground from an unseen source. There was an ugly wound on his forehead where something had hit him. Perhaps the heavy wooden plank which lay across his body. Chaim shifted as much as he could, pushing the plank from his friend’s body. The boy’s chest was a bloody mess, caved in on itself, not moving. 

_ Toyt _ . Chaim thought almost numbly. Dead. He is fifteen years old and he’s dead. Chaim’s hand caressed his friend’s chest, waiting for a heartbeat he knew would not come. When he took his hand away, it was covered in dark blood. Blackness threatened the edges of his vision, and he knew no more. 

When he awakened again, a burly man was shaking his shoulder.

“Are you alright lad? That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there.” The man gestured to Chaim’s forehead. Chaim reached up dazedly, his hand came away bloody. 

“I’m fine” He murmured, looking around “Abe? Quinn?” he muttered questioningly.

“The boys found with you? One of them got taken to hospital, the other... I’m sorry lad, the redhead didn’t make it.” Chaim nodded slowly.

“Do you think you can stand? You should get that cut looked at.” Chaim looked around again, still dizzy, his ears still ringing loudly.

“My crutches... I need my crutches...” The man looked confused, not having noticed the brace hidden under Chaim’s trousers.

“Crutches?” The man looked confused. Chaim lifted his trouser leg as though in explanation, exposing the metal brace. The man looked concerned and somewhat awkward, then the now familiar look of pity settled in his eyes.

“Can you walk at all without them? There could be unexploded bombs, they are clearing the whole street.” Chaim shook his pounding head, he could hardly walk with the crutches let alone without them. The man grunted, bending and scooping Chaim up as though he weighed nothing. Chaim let his pounding head fall back against the man’s shoulder as blackness once again crept towards the corners of his vision. 

Chaim woke in St. Cuthbert’s hospital, the same hospital where he had been taken when he contracted infantile paralysis. His parents were sitting by his bedside, looks of concern on their faces. Chaim leaned back on his pillows,  _ G-d _ , he thought,  _ if this headache doesn’t kill me they will. _ His mother reached out and stroked his hand.

“Chaim,  _ meyn tsigele _ , what happened?” Chaim sighed, pushing himself into a half seated position, he hated lying to his mother.

“I was just walking, and I thought I’d stop by to visit Abe, I haven’t gotten to see him much since he finished school.” There, that at least was mostly the truth. Then his father spoke, his gruff Volinyer Yiddish always ever so slightly harsher than his mother’s soft Galitzianer lilt.

“Abe told me about your friend, I am sorry.” Something broke inside Chaim and suddenly he was weeping. His mother took him in her arms, murmuring softly into his dark curls. When he finally cried himself out he breathed in deeply and looked hard at his father.

“ _ Tayte _ I want to see him buried, I know it will be in a church but I have to. I saw him...” Chaim shivered, thinking of the blood, of his mangled chest. His father nodded slowly, Chaim looked up at him quizzically, he had expected a speech about the dangers of becoming too involved with Christians.

“There is something I should tell you Chaim, your friend’s father is still here, he wanted to make sure you and Abe were...” Chaim cut him off,

“I have to see him  _ Tayte _ ! I have to tell him _...” _ Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again as his father squeezed his hand softly.

“I’ll bring him here, just a moment.” 

Quinn’s father was a huge, burly, Irish docker, but when he came over to Chaim’s bed, Chaim could see he had been crying. Chaim remembered that Quinn’s mother had died only three years before, and that Mr. McEwan had been raising Quinn and his three younger brothers alone ever since. Chaim felt in that instant both very grown up, and very, very small.

“Mr. McEwan. I was, I was there. I saw everything. I wanted to tell you, I thought you would want to know. He was gone in an instant. He didn’t feel any pain, he looked, surprised sir, surprised, but... It was so fast, he couldn’t have been in any pain, I’m sure.” Chaim wasn’t sure, it had been an instant but, an instant where your lungs were being crushed? Even an instant of that was unimaginable. The enormous man nodded, patting Chaim on the shoulder.

“Thank you son. Thank you for telling me.” Chaim lay back, exausted but still clasping Quinn’s father’s hand in his own. The man gave a small, sad smile and rubbed his hand softly.

“You sleep now son, you’ve had a hell of a day.” Chaim sighed, looking over to the bed next to his own to see Abe’s sleeping figure. When he looked back, Quinn’s father was gone. He sighed and burrowed into his pillows, letting himself drift off again to sleep.

**Colin POV**

Colin lay listlessly reading a book, only half paying attention to the words on the page.  He was running a low fever due to a urine infection and was supposed to be resting and drinking huge amounts of water. It was getting better quickly, and he knew he was extraordinarily lucky, but he still feared how helpless he was, how quickly  his body could turn against him as it had for the other men in his situation, most of whom had no chance. Besides this, the pain in his back was acting up and his legs had been spasming on and off all day. This, he had found was one of the worst side effects of his injury.  _ He _ couldn’t move his legs,  _ he  _ couldn’t move or feel or control them at all, yet at random time he would have stabs of burning, tingling phantom pain in his legs, then they would start shaking and jerking uncontrollably. Mary or one of the nurses would come and try to relieve the spasms, massaging and stretching his muscles or wrapping them in warm towels, but today nothing had helped and by the afternoon Colin was angry and exhausted.

The distant explosions came without warning. 

The muscles in Colin’s upper body tensed, he dropped his book and his eyes darted frantically around the ward. His brain was yelling at his body;  _ Run! Run! Run!  _ But half his body couldn’t respond. He heard the voice of Lieutenant Barnett screaming “ _ Get down Private!”  _  It suddenly felt as though here back at the front, back in that hell of mud and blood, watching once again as Lieutenant Barnett was ripped apart before his eyes. He threw the covers from his body, trying and failing desperately to get up. It wasn’t until Mary was by his bed, holding down his shoulders, that he realized he was screaming. He tried to focus on Mary’s blue eyes, he managed to stop screaming but he was shaking and his legs were spasming more severely than they ever had before.

“Shh, shh, Colin, it’s going to be alright. It’s an air raid, everything will be fine. We’re going to need to get you on a stretcher because some aeroplanes were spotted nearby. Everything will be fine, I promise.” Colin squeezed her hand, trying to pull himself back from the memory. 

“What’s going on?” He managed to choke out. Mary folded his hands in her’s as two orderlies transferred Colin to a stretcher and began to carry him out of the ward. 

“The Germans have taken to dropping a few bombs on some of our cities now and then. They wouldn’t dare hit a hospital I’m sure, but they’re moving all the patients they can into a shelter just to be safe.” Colin was still hyperventilating but his body had begun to calm slightly. The hospital was a hub of activity. Patients who could walk were being helped down the stairs, while patients in wheelchairs and stretchers waited at the top of the stairs and near the elevators. There was a lack of staff as some of the nurses stayed behind with patients in too critical a condition to be moved. A young man with only one leg wheeled himself up near Colin and gave him a reassuring smile.

“This has happened three times since I got here, I’m sure everything will be fine, it’s mostly a nuisance, trying to move us all.” Colin nodded, trying to control his breathing. He had managed to calm himself somewhat, but he knew he was still pale, and when they had moved him he noticed that his leg had spasmed so badly that the muscled hadn’t been able to relax so his leg looked somewhat twisted. There was still a minor burning in his feet but most of the pain had gone, his survival instincts had taken over, protecting him from the pain. Colin looked over, trying to focus on the one legged man who was now trying to make conversation. 

“I haven’t seen you on orthopedic or in physio, what did you do to get a blighty?” Colin grunted, sure a “blighty,” that coveted injury that made you useless to the army, but not anything truly debilitating like the loss of a limb.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a blighty, I broke my back.” The young man’s face reddened and he muttered a curse.

“Sorry mate, I didn’t know.” Colin waved off the man’s apologies, too tired to deal with anyone’s embarrassment but his own. 

“It’s fine.” Colin replied slightly snappishly. Two orderlies began carrying Colin down the stairs while another helped the one legged man. His face was wracked with pain as he slowly made his way down, one step at a time. He was panting by the time they made it to the shelter. Colin’s back was aching too and when the man sat heavily beside him Colin gave him a small smile and spoke to him softly.

“The pain can be a real arse can’t it?” The man snorted.

“Yeah, every time I try to walk my bloody leg feels like it’s on fire, but it’s not even there.” Colin nodded.

“That happens to me too. I can’t feel my legs but sometimes there are these pains that feel so real, but I know they are not.” The man looked inquisitively at Colin.

“I didn’t know that could happen.” Colin gave him a sad smile.

“None of us knew a hell of a lot about any of the things that have happened to us.”  

The man nodded slowly, “Truer words were never spoken.” He paused, “I’m Daniel by the way, Lieutenant Daniel Bloom.” Colin smiled, extending his hand towards the man.

“I’m Colin, Private Colin Craven.”

**Yiddish Glossary**

Cholent: a stew traditionally served on the sabbath because it can be cooked for many hours and thus can be served hot without breaking the prohibition of cooking on the sabbath

Got in himmel: G-d in heaven, or oh my g-d

Shabbos: sabbath or day of rest

Kaddish: the prayer for the dead

Yarmulke: the skullcap worn by observant Jewish men 

Tzitzis: the fringes worn on the corners of Jewish men’s undershirts

Toyt: Yiddish for “dead”

Meyn tsigele: my little goat (I promise this is a totally normal Yiddish term of endearment)

Galitzianer/ Volinyer Yiddish: two different dialects, Golda initially came from Warsaw where they spoke Galitzianer or Polish Yiddish and moved to Kishinev to marry Chaim’s father who would speak Ukranian (volinyer) Yiddish.


	15. After the Bombing

**After the Bombing**

Both Chaim and Abe were kept in the hospital overnight, then deemed well enough to return home the next afternoon. Chaim was carried home between his father and his brother Moshe because his crutches had been lost in the blast. His ribs ached during the long walk home and he was exhausted and worried about Abe. Abe had made a swift exit to avoid a telling off from Chaim’s father for working on  _ Shabbos, _ so they had not yet had a chance to talk in private. He fell asleep soon after he was tucked into bed and slept on and off most of the day. The next day, Moshe came in with some soup around midday when he came home from work for his own midday meal. Without speaking he assisted his brother into a seated position so he could eat the salty chicken soup. Moshe had always been wonderfully intuitive to Chaim’s needs. He never mentioned the help he gave, and he never gave help where it wasn’t needed, but he was always there when he was needed. Chaim was glad for the warm soup, but sitting was very difficult. He couldn’t get himself into a sitting position using his arms or chest because of the pain in his ribs, and there were few other muscles he could use to help him because there was residual paralysis in some of the muscles of his back and abdomen. He ate most of the soup but had to lie down again quite quickly because of the pain in his broken ribs.

“How are you feeling Chaim?” He asked in his soft, lilting Yiddish.

“Tired mostly, still quite sore. None of it feels real yet, like a horrible dream I can’t get out of my head.” Moshe nodded slowly, rubbing his temple.

“And I hate feeling so helpless, I can’t do anything, I can hardly sit up, and I couldn’t do anything to save them, to save Quinn. I failed.” He hated feeling so trapped in his own body, it reminded him far too much of the period when he first became ill. He had lain in bed with a fever for days before he tried to stand one morning and found he couldn’t. He was taken to hospital and placed in isolation. He was terrified and alone as his ability to move his body was slowly taken. By the time his fever broke his legs were completely paralyzed and his arms and hands were so weak he couldn’t even grasp a cup. He couldn’t even sit up because the muscles of his back and torso had been badly affected. Infantile paralysis, poliomyelitis they had called it. The crippler of children. Moshe seemed to know instinctively what his brother was thinking about. After all, he had slept in the bed next him during those many months of his brother’s recovery, often helping him in the night when his muscles ached and he needed to turn over in bed, or bringing a chamber pot and helping him use it so their parents need not be awakened. 

“You did not fail to save him because of this,” he said gesturing to his bad leg,

“You could not save him because no one in the world could save him. All three of you were blown off your feet, how were you supposed to save him when you were unconscious and he was already beyond help.” Chaim lay silently, he could not so easily let go of the guilt he felt at surviving.

“And Chaim, remember what the Rambam said, the righteous of all nations have a share in the world to come. If there ever was a righteous gentile it was Quinn and his family. We have all heard the stories of his father, he hires Jews in the dock yards when no one else will,  and he never expects them to work on Shabbos. And we can never forget how you first became friends with Quinn.” Chaim nodded, tears coming to his eyes at the memory of his dead friend’s kindness. Chaim had been twelve, and just barely well enough to begin school. His English was still broken and he was still weak from his illness. Crippled and visibly Jewish with his small black yarmulke he had been walking home from school at his usual slow pace when two boys from another school cornered him. They kicked him down, held his arms behind his back and screamed insults at him as they hit him.

“Jew boy, Christ killer, kike” they hurled the words at him like daggers, he could almost feel them cut into his flesh as he screamed, unable to fight back with his arms held behind him. He screamed and screamed hoping someone would hear, would notice, would care. But no one did. People walked by turning their heads away, pretending not to see. Until Quinn came. The strapping red headed Irish boy took on the two boys, hitting them, then scaring them away with a dangerous looking pocket knife. He helped Chaim up and brought him home, supporting his body the entire way.

“I remember” Chaim whispered, Moshe nodded, rubbing his brother’s hand. 

“I know you do, you will always remember, and as long as you do, you will keep his memory for a blessing, he will never be truly gone.” Chaim closed his eyes, emotional and physical pain flooding him. 

“I know, I know” he whispered again, exhaustion hitting him, he burrowed into his pillows. Moshe stroked his brother’s curls and put out the light by his bed.

“Try and sleep, little brother, you look exhausted.” Chaim nodded, suddenly hardly able to keep his eyes open. He slept soundly and dreamlessly.

**Three days later**

Mary climbed the rickety stairs, despite her preoccupation with Colin’s care, when she had hear of Rutka’s brother’s injury in the bombing she had decided to bring a basket of fruit and some books for Rutka’s brother to try and make his recovery a little easier. Rutka had been beside herself with Mary’s kindness, after all she was her maid and they had known each other mere weeks. But Mary always loved hearing Rutka talk about her family, just as she had loved listening to Martha speaker about her family when Mary was a child. She knocked at the door and was greeted by a comfortable looking woman who reminded her immensely of Susan Sowerby. She smiled quizzically and greeted Mary in a soft, heavily accented voice.

“Hello Miss, how can I help you?” Mary smiled back.

“Hello, my name is Mary Lennox, your daughter works for my uncle, I heard about your son so I brought some things to cheer him up.” The woman’s face lit up and she clasped Mary’s hand.

“Well, aren’t you a dear, come in child and have some tea.” Mrs. Ludke exclaimed over the basket of fruit, a rare luxury in the East End, as she bustled Mary into the small but comfortable front room. 

“May I ask where your son is, is he home? I’d like to give him this.” Mary held up the book, a beautiful copy of Les Miserables. Mrs. Ludke gasped, 

“Oh Miss, we cannot take this, you are too kind Miss.” Mary smiled,

“I insist, Rutka says he loves to read, may I give it to him?” Golda nodded, still somewhat shocked. 

“He’s just through here Miss.” She said, leading Mary through to the boy’s room in the back of the flat.

“Do forgive him if he is a bit cross, his ribs were hurting him this morning, and he is getting quite tired of staying in bed, but I’m afraid there’s not much we can do about that.” Mary looked at her questioningly.

“Oh! Was he so very badly injured?” Golda sighed, her hand resting on the door.

“He was injured, but, well you see, his crutches were caught in the blast and...” The proud woman couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence. To admit that she was having to scrimp and save to try and pay for something so vital. She pulled herself back, squaring her shoulders.

“Here, you give him your wonderful gift and I will find some food for you, I made  _ holishkes _ and I think I just might have some left just for you!” Mary smiled widely, nodded and entered the small room. 

A thin curly headed boy of about sixteen lay on one of the small beds, he was reading a thick battered book in a language Mary didn’t recognize, suddenly Mary was concerned, she hoped the boy could read English. The boy put down the book and looked inquisitively at Mary. 

“My name is Mary, your sister Rutka works for my uncle, I heard about what happened to you and thought I would stop by, I brought you this.” She lifted up the book and he looked at it in awe, she took in the books and papers stacked by his bed and the newspaper articles tacked up on his wall. He reached out a hand and brushed the gilt cover, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“This is for me? Just because my sister works for you?” Mary smiled and nodded. 

“I know how important it is to have things to read, especially when you are stuck in a little room. I know for you it will only be a little while longer, but this should help get you through it.” He smiled widely, he pushed himself up, wincing slightly, a hand on his ribs. He took the book, his slim fingers caressing it as though it were a living thing.

“This is the most beautiful book I have ever seen, I don’t know how to thank you.” Mary smiled, her real reason finally coming out.

“Actually there is something you can do to thank me. My cousin was hurt, very badly. There are so many obstacles in his way, in the way of all the soldiers who came back injured. I’m sure you feel that too. For my cousin, for all of them, don’t give up on that dream.” Mary gestured to the newspapers which covered the walls.

“How did you know about that?”

“Rutka told me, she said you write all the time.” Chaim let out his breath. Rutka hadn’t seen him and Abe together at the newspaper office. 

“I do, writing makes me feel...free. Even when I’m stuck in bed.” Golda bustled in just then, ending their conversation. 

“I have a plate ready and the tea is hot so you must come through and eat! Chaim are you hungry? I can help you into the kitchen if you would like, it would be good to get moving a little.” Chaim shook his head, gingerly lowering himself back down to the bed, his hand still inadvertently clutching his ribs.

“I’m fine Mama, I’ll eat later when Moshe can help me in, my ribs are still quite bad.” Golda patted her son’s shoulder.

“Alright  _ bubbeleh _ I’ll just bring you some tea.” Chaim smiled, softly touching his mother’s hand,

“ _ A dank Mame _ , and thank you again for the book Miss, it is wonderful.” Mary was brought through to a small, plain kitchen where she was sat at a long wooden table and presented with a glass of tea made in a way she had never seen it before, and a plate full of a dish she didn’t recognize. It smelled lovely though, sweet and meaty and slightly spicy. The dish consisted of rolls of what looked like cabbage covered in a thick red sauce. 

“Go on, you should eat, they are a specialty of mine, now you eat while I bring Chaim his tea.” Golda poured hot water from a large samovar and mixed the tea in a glass with a simple metal handle. Then she placed a slice of dark bread spread with honey on a small plate and bustled back into Chaim’s room with her tray. Mary took a small somewhat cautious bite. It was delicious, sweet and sour, the cabbage leaves were filled with well spiced meat and grains and the tomato sauce was thick and savory. Mary ate hungrily and drank the sweetened tea. It was entirely unlike English tea, served in a glass rather than a cup or mug and sweetened lightly but served strong and black without the customary milk or cream Mary was used to. Soon, Golda came bustling back into the kitchen, she didn’t seem to have another style of movement other than comfortably bustling about. 

“You have made quick work of that Miss, I am very pleased you enjoy it!” Mary smiled, reminded more and more of Susan Sowerby.

“It was lovely, thank you, I have never eaten anything like it!” Golda beamed, 

“Thank you Miss,” she began moving slowly around the kitchen with a cloth, cleaning each surface with care. 

“You have a lovely home.” Golda smiled again, pouring them both another glass of tea, she finally sat down across from Mary.

“After so many years, it still feels so strange to live with so many people, even in Warsaw, a big and beautiful city, here is even bigger.” Mary nodded,

“When I first saw London, I was overwhelmed by the buildings, even just from the docks and the drive to the train station. I never saw anything like it in India, all the smoke, the noise, the fog, it felt so strange, like another world.” 

“Another world indeed! Such a journey, what beautiful things you must have seen.” Mary nodded.

“I only wish I had enjoyed it, it was a hard time for me.” Golda looked at her sympathetically and nodded.

“My daughter tells me you are going through a hard time again, I am very sorry. Those boys do not deserve such pain.” 

“Thank you, he is doing a bit better, but he will never be the same.” Golda nodded sadly,

“He will find a way, in time, he will find a way  _ yeder mentsh hot zein peckel _ , every man has his burden.” Suddenly she stood.

“You know, I remember my Chaim could hardly eat anything when he was in hospital. You have brought such lovely things, I can give a few things of my own.” She gathered two small braided rolls and placed them in the basket which she had emptied of the fruit. She then took a jar and filled it with more of the cabbage from the pot on the stove. 

“There! Perhaps this will put a smile on his face. Rutke says he has no mother to feed him and I can’t have that. And no arguing child you must take it!” Mary smiled broadly showering praises on the lovely, motherly woman. When she left, carrying the small basket she felt quite revived, just as she did when she visited Susan Sowerby, and just as Rutka had told her she would.

**A Secret Revealed**

A few days later, Chaim was finally alone, his mother had gone to the chicken market to get a bird for the Shabbos meal, his father was at work and the children were all at school. Because his mother went to market at the same time twice a week, Chaim sat in bed praying that Abe would remember and try and come by. He was right, around mid morning he heard steps in the front room and a moment later Abe pushed open his bedroom door. 

“Abe!” Abe brought a finger to his lips, not wanting to alert the neighbors. He knelt by Chaim’s bed and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. Chaim took Abe’s hand and kissed his fingers. He pushed himself up to a half seated position against his pillows, ignoring the pain of his ribs. Their lips met and Abe’s uninjured arm circled Chaim’s waist, hugging him close and supporting him at the same time. When their kiss broke there were tears in eachother’s eyes. 

“G-d I’ve missed you Abe.” Abe nodded, 

“Me to, I’ve wanted to see you so badly it almost hurts.” Abe whispered, lifting Chaim’s hand to kiss again. Chaim moved to look at Abe’s bandaged arm, kissing the bandages softly. 

“Are you in pain?” Chaim asked softly.

“Not as bad as it was, they got everything out so it’s getting better. How are your ribs?” Chaim sighed, finally feeling as though he could let out all the pain, sadness, and frustration.

“I wouldn't mind the pain so much if I wasn't so stuck. I can’t sit up on my own any more, and I don’t know how long it will be before my parents are able to afford crutches. I’ll be stuck in bed until then, and I wanted to go to Quinn’s funeral!” He added his voice breaking.

“I feel I owe it to him you know.” Abe kissed his forehead again. 

“I know, I don’t know how to bring myself to go, I could hardly talk to his father in hospital. I just felt so guilty.” Chaim nodded.

“Everyone keeps telling me it isn’t my fault, and part of me knows they’re right, but part of me still blames myself. We were all together, yet somehow we made it and he didn’t, it isn’t fair.” Entwining their hands, Abe replied,

“I know.” Chaim looked at their clasped hands, raising them and kissing Abe’s fingertips.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Abe down next to him on the bed, kissing him sweetly. 

“I shouldn’t stay long, if someone were to come home...” Chaim nodded but he ran his fingers hungrily through Abe’s hair, kissing him again and again.

“I know, I just need you. I want you so badly. I just need to hold you.” It was difficult and awkward, both boys were in pain so they had to avoid each other's injuries but eventually they found a position where both were comfortable and they lay in eachother’s arms for some time. Eventually Chaim drifted off to sleep and Abe slipped out, their secret still safe, at least for now.

**Yiddish Glossary**

Holishkes: stuffed cabbage- delicious, just saying, definitely worth a try. I suggest Canter's Deli in LA for the best holishkes I’ve ever had. Believe me, Ashkenazi cuisine might get a bad rap, but we really have some great stuff!

Rambam: The Rambam was an important Jewish scholar. He wrote about the Jewish view of the afterlife, which is generally much more vague than in Christianity or Islam. There is a concept of a heaven, and the idea that the wicked won’t really enjoy heaven but there isn’t a concept of hell, or the idea that only Jews can go to heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have another Colin chapter in a few days


	16. Slowly Moving Forward

AN- Sorry for the long delay, I’ve been a bit writer’s blocky and I had to take a two month break because I had an amazing Yiddish class and internship which took all of my time. Hopefully I'll be able to get in another chapter or two before school starts and I'm in thesis mode!

Slowly Moving Forward  
Colin’s first sojourn in a wheelchair came nearly six weeks after his initial journey to the hospital grounds. After this first journey from his bed he thought that perhaps his health would return swiftly, but he was wrong. His strength was very slow to return and even when they did deem him healed enough to sit up, he was still extremely weak.  
It was about nine in the morning, just after breakfast, when Nurse Gold, Mary, and Dr. Hawthorne entered with the chair. It was smaller than the wheeled carriage he had had as a child, but still seemed somewhat large and cumbersome. It’s high wicker back was reclined slightly, the foot rests were extended, and the whole thing was covered in pillows.  
“Private Craven, we’re going to try to get you sitting in your chair today.” Colin gave a weak half smile, his lips pursed.   
“Now don’t look at me like that Private, this is your first step towards going home, soon you’ll start to see that this chair will be your freedom.” Colin nodded, still not looking forward to the pain of being moved. Mostly he wasn’t looking forward to having to accept that the wheelchair- his wheelchair- would have to become part of him. It made it all seem more permanent somehow.   
“How am I supposed to sit in that thing Doctor? I can’t even sit up in bed, I’ve tried and I’m not strong enough. Besides my back still aches most of the time.” Colin looked up at his doctor, half in trepidation and half in real pain.   
“We are going to start by sitting you up in bed. These beds can be adjusted to help patients with limited trunk control sit up. Now, you are lucky, you have full use of your upper abdominals and you’ve regained some sensation and control in your lower abdominals and hips, below your level of injury. It’s very weak now, as are your back and shoulders, but it’s definitely coming back, which is frankly more than I expected in your case.” Colin cut him off, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.  
“If it’s beginning to come back more than you expected, does that mean I may be able to walk again?” Dr. Hawthorne shook his head.  
“That would be highly unlikely. Despite this improvement, your diagnosis has not changed in my opinion. What it may help with is in allowing you to eventually walk short distances with the support of crutches and braces once you rebuild your strength. The sensation in your lower abdomen may with time begin to help you relearn to control your bladder and bowels but there is no way to tell for sure.” Colin’s face fell, reddening slightly at Dr. Hawthorne’s mention of these intimate details, but Dr. Hawthorne just kept talking.  
“We will sit you up slowly in bed and let you sit for about an hour, I’ll warn you this can make you quite dizzy. When you’ve become accustomed to sitting upright, we’ll transfer you to the chair. We won’t have you sit for more than a half hour at first because you are not yet strong enough to do weight shifts so there is an increased threat of bed sores. You will also have support in the chair so that you do not strain yourself too much. I won’t lie to you, it will probably be painful at first because your back isn’t completely healed. But you are healed enough that it is very important to start moving about and exercising as much as possible. One of your nurses will begin doing some simple stretches tonight and tomorrow you will start some light exercise in the physio room.” Colin looked somewhat incredulous, but a look from Mary told him not to argue. Truly, there was part of him which was excited to get up and about, he just didn’t know if he could handle the pain, or the humiliation, of having to go about in a chair. As a child, he had hated how people stared at him so, that he had all but locked himself away to avoid ever having to see anyone. He curled his lip in disgust at the memory of the women at the seaside who would pinch his cheek and call him ‘poor child’ as though he couldn’t understand what they were saying to him.   
Nurse Gold moved to the foot of his bed and began to turn a large metal crank which moved the head of Colin’s bed slowly up to a forty five degree angle. As he moved, Colin felt the color drain from his face. His head was spinning and buzzing with the shock of his new position and his stomach felt as though he were in a very rocky boat. Noticing his green tinged face, Mary placed a bowl in his lap just in time for him to vomit. She and Nurse Gold caught hold of each of his arms as his weak muscles threatened to make him fall forward as he retched. When he was done, Mary cleared away the bowl and Nurse Gold began to prop up his upper body with pillows. Colin’s eyes were screwed shut, tears poured down his cheeks and his lips were in a thin, hard line. As Mary cleared away the bowl, she patted him on the shoulder, then noticed the smell, and the wet stain which had spread across the bed. The pressure of vomiting had caused his bladder to empty itself involuntarily. When the wetness hit his fingers, a look of horror and disgust passed over Colin’s face, Mary kissed his forehead softly.  
“It’s perfectly alright Colin, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Colin couldn’t bring himself to look at her, he had fallen deep into the pit of self loathing and it would take him some time to get out again. He felt Nurse Gold lower the bed slightly and the movement caused another wave of nausea. He kept his eyes tight shut as Nurse Gold cleaned him and changed his sheets. He hated this aspect of his injury most. He hated that it posed a constant threat of infection, that it could easily shorten his life by years or even decades, but more he hated how out of control it made him feel, how helpless and full of self disgust, as he had to lay in his own filth before a nurse would come clean him.  
Rather than giving up on the whole thing as Colin wished they would, Dr. Hawthorne insisted on trying again. Propped up on his pillows Colin was soon almost upright in bed once again. He was miserable and angry, and now to add to it he was in pain.  
“Are you really going to make me do this again? I’m exhausted.” He pled, looking angrily from Mary to Dr. Hawthorne and back.  
“I know, but this is important Private. You have been in bed for months, you have to get your blood moving or you will develop bed sores and over time you could even have blood clots.” Dr. Hawthorne warned then Mary piped up,  
“Besides Colin, if you don’t have to be in bed wouldn’t you rather be up and about? Soon you’ll be strong enough to push your chair and then you can do almost everything you did before, you’ll be independent.” Colin scoffed.  
“I can’t turn over in bed, do you really expect that everything will get back to normal so easily. How can I ever be independent, you know that will never happen.” Dr. Hawthorne interjected.   
“That is not entirely true Private, yes, it may look different but there is every chance you will be able to do most things yourself eventually. There is every likelihood you’ll be able to dress yourself, you may be able to bathe yourself, take care of most of your personal needs. You may with time learn to get into and out of your chair, although this will depend quite a bit on your upper body strength. You may continue to need help with transfers for some time though. But you will not have to live your life as an invalid unless you let yourself waste away. That is your decision alone.” Colin ignored this, but a seed of hope was kindled in him. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so very, confined, as he had been once. After about fifteen minutes they decided to move him to the chair, slowly and carefully. It wasn’t as bad as he thought, though after a few minutes his back was screaming in protest and the nausea had returned with avengence. Mary saw the pain in his face and knelt beside him. She rubbed his back softly,  
“You’re doing wonderfully Colin, but you can lie down if the pain is more than you can bare.” Colin nodded,  
“I can take it for another minute,” a stab of pain hit him and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in sharply.  
“Hurts like hell.” He murmured, Mary nodded,   
“I know, Colin, I know.” She said rubbing his hand between hers, he gripped it tightly, forcing himself through the pain. After what felt like hours but was actually only a few minutes, Dr. Hawthorne indicated to the nurse to help Colin back into bed. He sighed with relief, as Mary tucked the blanket around him his back was aching, although the dizziness had subsided somewhat. Colin’s eyes were screwed up in pain, and Mary’s heart ached for him.   
“How will I do this everyday?” he murmured, and Mary saw tears in his eyes.  
“My back feels like it was broken all over again.” He spoke through clenched teeth, and Mary could see each line of pain in his pale, sweaty face. Mary turned, taking a cloth from the table beside his bed and pouring a bit of water on it from the jug. Gently she washed the sweat from his face, he managed a tight lipped smile.  
“I’ll go organize some hot water bottles, that might help a bit, to relax your muscles.” Colin nodded in thanks, they had found that heat helped relieve some of his pain and allowed even his paralyzed muscles to relax. Mary stood, straightening her skirts and turned to make up the hot water bottles.   
Mary returned presently with three bottles, wrapped tightly in towels in order to make sure that they would not burn him where he could not feel. Silently, Mary helped Colin turn onto his side, propping up one of his knees with a pillow. She placed the warm bundles around Colin’s body. She gave him two small tablets to help with his pain, and soon his face was relaxed, his eyes half closed. When he was comfortable, she sat beside him again and took a book from the bedside table, this time a thin copy of Just So Stories. They had both loved the stories when they were children, the exotic scenes had reminded Mary of India.   
“Would you like me to read from this?” Colin nodded, he liked hearing the stories as he fell asleep, particularly when he was exhausted, or medicated. He hated how the medicine dulled his senses, but the childish stories made it a little more bearable. Soon Colin found himself drifting off to the soft sound of Mary’s voice. Colin sighed with relief as he began to fall asleep. There was little relief to be had from his pain, outside the sweet relief of sleep, which mercifully soon claimed him.   
When Colin awakened the next morning he was pleased to find that, though the ache in his back was still there, still worse than what had become his ‘normal’, it was at a level he could bare, and unlike the night before, it did not consume his whole body. He sighed, looking at the ceiling, trying to push away the sadness which often struck him in the mornings. There were always several moments as Colin woke up that he didn’t register the numbness of his lower body. He would try to savour those moments, but like a dream they always slipped away, generally leaving him angry and resigned to another day fighting with his body for the life he wanted.  
He had awakened late, and the nurses were already doing morning checks on the other patients, who had already been given their breakfasts. Nurse Gold made her way over to his bed, pushing her tray of supplies.  
“Finally up are we? Do you mind us doing checks before you’ve eaten, it’s best to keep on a schedule with these things.” Colin knew what she meant, and grimaced at the thought of it. He hated the fact that several times a day, a nurse would ‘empty him out’ with surgical cleanliness and precision for the rest of his life. Every other morning they would help him with his other bodily functions as well, an even worse affair, particularly since he had begun to feel bloating and pain in his abdomen before it was time to do it. It was humiliating, and as this was one of the mornings when the unpleasant task must be done, he sat it out in sullen silence. Today though, he was surprised to notice new sensations as the procedure was done, dull, but there, and he was finally able to use his own strength to help finish the horrible procedure a little sooner than normal. Nurse Gold looked pleased, and patted his shoulder.  
“You’re gaining back some control, that’s good, maybe we won’t need to do this much longer.” Colin looked pleadingly at her.  
“You really think so?” She nodded.  
“It’s possible, we’ve had a few patients with incomplete injuries learn to control it using only their morning coffee!” She laughed slightly, “One fellow in particular always found it quite funny, laughed about it every morning.” Colin didn’t find this very funny but gave her a small smile. She saw his discomfort and changed the subject.  
“Let’s just finish your checks, and then I’ll bring you some breakfast. You’ll need your strength for your exercises today. Is there anything you’d like? I might be able to convince the kitchen to give you a few fresh scones,” Colin nodded,  
“I wouldn’t mind a scone, and bit of tea.” Nurse Gold patted his knee, seeing how apprehensive Colin seemed.   
״I'll have her add a nice bit of egg and bacon, you deserve a bit of a treat” he smiled at her kindness but he was still unsure what to expect from the exercise room, he was afraid of what new pain would come to him, and was equally afraid he would fail at even the simplest tasks.   
When she came back with his breakfast tray, instead of setting it on his bedside table and slowly feeding him bites of food, she pushed his tray in on a tray table which could fit over the bed.   
“Here you go, now I was thinking you might like to try with the bed elevated like we did yesterday. There’s nothing wrong with your arms, so I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to do this yourself.” Colin immediately brightened, he didn’t care about the lingering pain in his back so long as he could regain this one shred of independence.   
“I’ll take that grin as a yes.” Said Nurse Gold, smiling brightly back at him. Colin nodded, and she slowly began turning the crank on the bedstead to lift his head and shoulders.   
It was only about an hour later that two male orderlies in crisp army uniforms came to wheel Colin’s bed down to the physiotherapy hall. When he was wheeled in he immediately realized he was among the worst off. There were no other patients from the spinal unit and most of the patients in the hall were learning to walk again on artificial legs or throwing balls to each other with artificial arms. All eyes turned to Colin, as he was the only patient to be brought in on a bed, but among the only patients with all four limbs intact. He recognized two of the men, Lieutenant Daniel Bloom, the man he had met during the air raid, and to his surprise and pleasure, Dickon, who was lifting a large weight with his good arm.   
Dickon made his way over to Colin’s bed, along with a man in an army uniform and doctor’s white coat. A young nurse made her way over as well. She looked oddly familiar somehow, though Colin couldn’t quite place her.   
“Dickon!” Colin smiled, “what are you doing here?” Dickon chuckled slightly,  
“I helped you walk last time, I figured tha might get better quicker with a friendly face around now. Your father convinced General Crawford to let me help you after I did my own exercises.” Dickon said, extending his bad arm. Colin smiled, his eyes thanking Dickon in a way he couldn’t vocalize. The doctor cut in then, he was a middle aged man with thick graying hair that didn’t seem to want to remain tidy. He wore small round glasses and a thick moustache.   
“Good morning Private. I’m General Crawford, Dr. Crawford to you, anyway, how are we this morning?” The man was overly jovial in a way which would have been quite irritating if he hadn’t seemed so earnest. Colin gave a half smile,   
“Not bad sir, just a touch of paralysis.” The man smiled jovially   
“Nothing to worry about then, I’ll see you’re discharged immediately.” This time Colin gave a real smile, he quite liked the man. Dr. Crawford removed the sheet from Colin’s legs,   
“Will you remove the splints please Nurse Crawley, his x-rays show the legs are almost healed so I would like to start some passive exercises, and massage, then move on to arm exercises, hydrotherapy, and possibly electrotherapy to stimulate the paralyzed muscles.” The nurse nodded, jotting down several notes on Colin’s chart.   
As soon as Dr. Crawford said her name Colin recognized her, though they hadn’t seen each other for some five years.  
“Lady Sybil Crawley! Haven’t you recognised me? How long has it been? Five years?” Sybil nodded. “Of course I recognised you Master Colin. It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” Colin smile faded somewhat, but he tried to remain cheerful, he nodded slowly.  
“Yes, may I ask how you got here? Forgive me, but I can’t see your father being very amenable to you being all alone in London, and working in a hospital no less.” A familiar defiant look came over Sybil’s face.  
“It wasn’t his first choice, but I convinced him to allow it. It wasn’t so hard to convince him after Dr. Crawford helped Matthew recover from his injury.” Colin looked quizzically at her, and she explained.   
“Mary’s husband, Matthew, had an injury somewhat like yours, Dr. Crawford helped him.” A glimmer of hope flickered in Colin’s eyes.   
“Did he recover? I mean, can he...walk?” Sybil looked somewhat unsure, looking for guidance from Dr. Crawford. The old man nodded slightly.  
“He can, with assistance, but he only had bruising of his spine, the cord wasn’t badly damaged.” Colin nodded, but there was a hardness in his eyes, he wasn’t giving up this new hope. Dr. Crawford adjusted his spectacles, interjecting as politely as possible.  
“Alright, now Private, this may be painful, let me or the nurse know if anything is too much.” Colin nodded, looking at Dickon who sat beside his bed, he squeezed his friend’s hand.  
“You can go back to your exercises, I’ll be alright.” Dickon nodded, returning to his station, but keeping an eye on Colin rather than on the conversation of the men working their injured limbs around him.   
Sybil lifted the sheet from Colin's legs, then worked his trousers off, he gave her a grateful smile as she hid the catheter beneath the sheet and tucked the white fabric around his drawers for modesty. He didn't need everyone in the hospital know how badly he was affected, the whole room getting a glimpse of his atrophied legs was bad enough.   
“Alright Private, where is the lowest point you can feel? Even a little, don’t discount sensations that feel different than before your injury, some may be phantom pains, but even these can sometimes be useful indicators of what is going on with the body below the level of injury.” Colin thought for a moment, closing his eyes to try and pinpoint each feeling.  
“It’s all right Private, take your time.” Colin’s fingers palpated his own stomach, pressing down and hoping for sensation. Slowly, he opened his eyes.  
“About here,” he indicated his lower abdomen just below his hip bone,  
“But it's patchy, I can’t feel my hip, but I can feel here, right next to it, at least a little. Its higher on my back, I can’t feel my lower back at all.” Dr. Crawford nodded,   
“Alright, I’m going to start with massage, honestly, it’s unlikely you’ll feel much of it, but do tell me if there is any pain. The muscles stiffen and spasm quite easily in cases like yours, particularly since your leg has been splinted, I try to avoid splinting in cases of paralysis as it speeds up the process of atrophy and cause the limbs to stiffen, but in your case I’m afraid it couldn’t be avoided. We’ll start slowly, just massage and gentle stretches today. The main thing we’ll want to accomplish before you’re discharged is having you sit up at least somewhat independently and be able to lift and move your own body weight.” A look of disgust passed over Colin’s face, to have to learn these simple things all over again was chipping away daily at his own sense of himself, his manhood, his place in the world. Dr. Crawford had begun to rub and stretch Colin’s legs, but looked up at him sideways,   
“Any pain Private?” Colin sighed.  
“None of the kind you can fix sir. Like you said, can’t exactly feel what you’re doing.” Dr. Crawford only nodded, he had seen many boys like Colin before, and Colin would not be the last spinal case he treated during this long war. Besides the spinal cases, he had seen every type of injury imaginable, some unimaginable. They were happy and young and gallant, and so so broken.   
“I’m going to fit a sling around your leg now, it will help me stretch the leg without compromising the healing process. You sustained a nasty break Private, frankly I’m surprised you’ve still got this leg.” Colin nodded, in spite of his paralysis, he was grateful to have both limbs at least visually intact.   
The stretching was an odd experience, it was somewhat painful, as he could feel the stretches pulling on the muscles of his upper body, but when it was over, Colin’s body felt oddly relaxed. His body had been still so long that even these simple exercises felt enormously freeing.   
After the therapy, Sybil brought warm towels and helped Colin turn onto his stomach, she placed the cloths on his back and shoulders. Colin gave a contented sigh, the warm heat made his sore muscles finally relax a little, as he lay there, some of tension he had been carrying since he first left for the front finally began to abate.   
“Soon you’ll be lifting weights with the other men and then you’ll really be glad for this.” Colin smiled, not quite believing her.  
“Thank you Sybil, I haven’t felt this contented since, well, I don’t know when.” He sighed slowly again, “I hardly even feel the pain anymore.” Sybil smiled softly, shifting his pillows to make him more comfortable.   
“Good, Private, I’m glad I could help.” Colin turned towards her as much as he could, looking quite serious.  
“No, really, you and Mary both, I never would have imagined either of you as nurses, it didn’t even cross my mind. And you have done so much for me without even asking for a thank you. I think today I may catch a few hours sleep without pain. I can’t tell you what that means.” He knew he was babbling but he didn’t care, Sybil didn’t seem to mind, she smiled and stroked his hand.   
“I am glad to be able to do something useful Colin, as I’m sure Mary is, now, let’s get you that good rest then, I’ll have an orderly take you back to the ward.” The orderly soon arrived and after commenting that Colin looked ‘plum tuckered out’ he wheeled him back to the spinal unit.   
It was his father, not Mary who greeted him upon his arrival in the ward. As his bed was wheeled into position, his father set his book down and helped position his son’s bed against the wall.   
“How was it? Are you in much pain?.” Colin pushed himself up slightly to settle more comfortably on his pillows, instinctively, Archibald put his hand behind Colin’s back to help. Colin smiled, laughing slightly as his father helped him lie comfortably.   
“Not too bad, really, they didn’t do much because my leg is still bad. Just moved me around a little. It hurt at first but the stretches almost felt good after a time. Made me rather tired though.” Archibald stood,  
“I’ll leave you to sleep then.” he slowly turned to go, but Colin grabbed his hand.  
“Would you stay please, Father?” With his hand still in his son’s, Archie slowly sat down again. They sat quietly for several minutes, as Colin tried to sleep. Colin sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.  
“Damn, I thought I would be tired enough I could sleep, like when I was small and you would read to me. I would pretend to be asleep and I would hope that I would fall asleep while you were still there, but I never did. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep for the entire night. Then the next morning I would be so tired Mrs. Medlock would send for the doctor.” Softly reaching out, Archie rubbed his son’s cheek, smiling at the soft stubble there, his hand found the thick shock of black hair that fell across his forehead, so like when he was young.   
“I remember. I think I hoped you would wake, but I was so afraid I could never admit it to myself. Perhaps if I had...” Colin nodded,   
“You were afraid, we both were.” Archie turned his head away slightly, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his son throughout his young years. It took him a moment to compose himself, so Colin decided to change the subject.   
“I think I could eat something, besides if I go to sleep before supper the nurses will be waking me up all night trying to get me to eat.” Archibald nodded, a smile finally gracing his lips, he clasped Colin’s hand as he stood.  
“I’ll only be a moment, would you like to sit up a little.” Colin nodded and his father raised the head of his bed slightly. As his father left to ask the nurses to bring up a tray, Colin nestled deeper into his pillows. His back was aching again and he was indeed becoming rather tired. He forced himself to remain awake through his meal of roast potatoes and chicken in something which nearly resembled a bread sauce. He hadn’t expected his father to stay. Since his fever broke Archibald had spent most nights at the flat, but that night he fell asleep with his father’s hand in his and his father was there to help the nurses turn him during the night and the next morning he awoke with a smile, seeing his father. He reached out his hand towards his father, squeezing his hand. The old man slowly opened his eyes, smiling slightly at Colin.   
“I love you, Father, we’ll get through this. I might not always say it, but you hold me to what I'm saying now. We’ll get through this together.” The man leaned forward kissing his son’s forehead gently.   
“You are your mother’s boy, you truly are.” Colin smiled up at his father, comfortable and still somewhat bleary eyed with sleep. His grey eyes were indeed, the mirror image of his mother’s.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	17. Preparations

**Preparations**

“Pull against my arms with this hand Colin.” Sybil commanded, taking his right arm, “Now put your other arm behind you and push up.” 

Colin did as he was told, pulling himself up, but the soft mattress made it difficult, his exercises were still done in his bed and he did not yet seem to have the strength to combat the give of the mattress. He got about three quarters of the way before falling back, he lay there panting and exhausted. 

“God, I hate this.” Colin groaned, rubbing the sweat from his face.

“It will get easier Colin, it just takes time.” He nodded.

“Sometimes that’s a bit hard to believe.” 

“I know, everything seems awfully hard at the moment, but it does get easier. Or at least more normal. You take a little break, I’ll come back when I’ve finished with Private Flanagan.” She turned and walked away, rubbing his shoulder as she left. She went over to a man learning to feed himself with what was left of his two mangled hands. As she did, Lieutenant Bloom came over, limping on his new prosthetic leg, making an amusing noise as he sat in the chair next to Colin’s bed.

“Want some water Private?” He asked, already pouring the glass, and handing it to Colin.

“ You look worn out, but you were doing good back there, you were almost all the way up. Remember when you started in here you couldn’t even stay upright for more than a few minutes even with back support, let alone without.”

“Thanks,” Colin replied, taking a long drink from the glass,

“When we first met you couldn’t even manage with crutches. Now you’re up and walking without them. At least you’ve made some useful progress. Nothing I ‘accomplish’ seems like it will change much, not in the long run. I’ll still be stuck in a chair the rest of my life. Whether or not I can sit up in bed by myself won’t change that.” Lieutenant Bloom shook his head. “You’re letting this kill you lad, you’re letting it win. You can’t let your injury rule you, you’ll drown. You have to let yourself enjoy the little victories, they’ll add up in time.” He stood and went to the foot of Colin’s bed, raising it to a sitting position. 

“Here, watch.” He then pulled an empty wheelchair next to the bed, leaning heavily on the push bar. He stopped the chair right next to Colin’s bed and sat in the seat. With great effort he maneuvered himself from the chair to the bed, careful to use only his arms. After catching his breath he moved himself back into the chair.

“See, just that one thing would make all the difference in the world. Every small bit of independence you gain will change more than you know. And you have to fight for it harder than you’ve ever fought before. Think about it. If you could do that- and I see no reason you couldn’t- you wouldn’t have to wait for someone to get you out of bed in the morning. You could go to bed whenever you wanted. You could sit wherever you wanted. You would be so much less dependent on other people. Don’t you see that?” Colin nodded. He wasn’t convinced he could ever do that, but he could see what Bloom meant. If he could do things like that himself, maybe his life wouldn’t be so like it was before the garden. 

Sybil had seen the commotion and came over, Colin gave her an earnest, pleading look.

“Do you really think I could do that?” Sybil thought for a moment then nodded.

“I would hope so Private. You’re young and healthy, you have full use of your arms and there isn’t any deformity from your injuries. It will take a lot of practice and maybe some adjustments to your bed or chair, but it should be a realistic goal, at least once you’ve had some more time to heal.” He pressed her further.

“How long?” 

“It’s hard to say Private. Partly it is up to you. I know that Dr. Hawthorne has hoped to give you some time at home to get stronger before doing any more vigorous therapy. Transfers have to wait until your spine is fully healed or we risk further aggravating the injury, and there’s the risk of falling, so we have to make sure you’re strong before attempting them. It might be hard to believe with how hard your therapy feels already, but we have been very cautious in your exercises so far. Dr. feels you can begin some more rigorous therapy, like practicing sitting up, but we still have to focus mainly on the passive exercises until your X-rays come back clear. After that, it all depends how hard you work, and how well you take care of your health.” Colin  adjusted himself in the bed, sitting up straighter even though it hurt his still healing back. 

“Let’s get back to it then.” the young Rajah commanded. Sybil smiled, nodding,

“Yes, let’s. I’m going to start stretching your legs, I’ll keep you sitting up and you just relax, we’ll try some arm exercises after your stretches.”

“Right’o Sister- you get him working his ass off.” Sybil laughed,

“Go back to your own exercises Lieutenant, I’ll take it from here.”

Bloom smiled, giving a jaunty salute and a wink to Sybil before limping to the mat where some of the other men were lifting weights. Sybil began the leg stretches and Colin leaned back, breathing through the pain the stretches caused in his back. When she finished with his stretches Sybil handed him two small weights and instructed him in their use. He couldn’t lift his arms over his head without pain, but he still managed the exercises she taught without too much trouble. After no more than fifteen minutes he was sweaty and exhausted, but exhilarated. This was not the sweat of fever or the exhaustion of  long days in bed, this was good sweat, the good exhaustion of hard worked muscles. And Colin reveled in it. 

“That was very good Private. You keep that up and soon you can work out in your chair with the other men. You’ll have arms like Adonis in no time.” Her eyes twinkled with a smile. He smiled back somewhat sheepishly.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Nurse, those weren’t exactly dumbbells.” He quipped, but he was smiling too. 

“It’s a start though, a real start.” Colin leaned back, still smiling, 

“You a bit stiff?” Colin nodded, stretching as much as he could.

“Here, I’ll bring some hot packs, that should help some. You worked hard today, you’ll want to rest this evening. Don’t want you overdoing it.” 

“I suppose not. Though I don’t see how fifteen minutes of calisthenics counts as overdoing it.” he griped. 

“You’d be surprised Private. I’d hazard to guess you’ll be quite sore tomorrow morning. You’ve been on near total bed rest, and your body is still adjusting to your injuries. It will take many months of work to rebuild your endurance.” Colin sighed, everything that might give him a shred of independence seemed as though it would take months. His life seemed to stretch before him as an endless stream of new trials.


	18. Decisions

**Decisions**

“You know, I have never been seeing hair like yours ever in my life Miss Mary.” Rutka marveled as she brushed Mary’s long straight blonde hair. Mary laughed,

“You’ve mentioned it!” Rutka chuckled sheepishly and continued to brush the long golden strands. She began constructing a complicated braided coif at the knape of Mary’s neck.  

“There, quite lovely!” She proclaimed, sticking in one last pin, “anyone would think you go to the opera and not to work in a soldier’s hospital.” Mary smiled,  smoothing her bangs over her forehead. “Well, I won’t be in a soldier’s hospital much longer Rutka, Colin will be released in a few weeks. We’re going home to Misselthwaite!” 

“Oh that’s wonderful, I’m so pleased for you!” Mary turned in her chair, looking up at Rutka, a little sheepishly.

“I actually have something to ask you about that actually, when we return I will be in need of a new lady’s maid. Martha, has had her baby and of course will be leaving service. We were hoping her younger sister could take it on, but she just got engaged. I was wondering if you could possibly consider coming to work at Misselthwaite. I know it would be so far from your family, and would seem very strange, but it would be a more comfortable position, and only until one of Martha’s sister’s is old enough, then you could come back to your family in London. And you would be better paid than here, you could send some of your wages home. I hope you’ll consider it.”

~~~

The next morning, after Chaim had come home from the morning  _ minyan _ , Rutka entered his room and sat on Dovid’s bed which was directly next to his. Chaim was reading from a collection of Morris Rosenfeld’s sweatshop poetry. He often rested and read in his room most of _ shabbos _ in order to save up energy for the week. He had seemed so much more tired since the bombing, it worried her.  New wooden crutches were resting against the bed, and heavy metal braces attached to Chaim’s shoes, the physical evidence of the lasting effects of his illness.  He turned on his bed, placing his book on the small bedside table. He loved to read, particularly since he had begun work at a local Yiddish print shop. It produced synagogue pamphlets and other small publications. At night it lent its presses to young leftist groups looking to print their newsletters and protest leaflets. At night the shop also became a hangout for the writers who had been thrown out of newspapers like  _ Der Arbeter Fraynd _ after the war started and the government began to crackdown on the publishing houses of the Yiddish press. Currently, he only spread the ink and worked the printing press after school. But at the shop he brushed shoulders with the figureheads of the underground Yiddish world. Men who gave him books and didn’t look at him like he was a child, speaking to him like his thoughts mattered. Men, most not much older than him, who had been in street brawls. Who had been arrested at protests. He envied them really, the freedom their unbroken bodies gave them. But reading the books they gave him, about Herzl’s dreams of a Jewish state and Ber Borochov’s plans for a socialist  _ yishuv _ gave him hope. But even here he felt an outsider. What place would there be on one of these new  _ kibbutzim _ for someone like him? He couldn’t plough, or fight, or even milk a cow. It was the writers and journalists who truly captured him. The idea of sitting in a room humming with the sound typewriters, the air thick with the smell of ink and coffee. He imagined proclaiming his ideas to the world. His name in gilt letters on the cover of a book, or in still wet ink under the latest headline of  _ Der Forverts _ , right next to all the bigwigs. Cahan, An-ski, Frumkin, Ludke! 

He was bought out of his thoughts by his sister’s soft voice.

“How are you feeling? I've hardly seen you this week.” 

“I'm fine Rutka, really, I just get tired. You know that. I promise I’m all healed.” She reached out and stroked her brother’s hand. 

“I worry you know, sometimes, you look so tired, like the wind would blow you over.” he rolled his eyes but nodded. 

“I know, but you mustn't Rutka, I have to be my own man, I won't have you to fuss over me my whole life, and don't start talking of a wife who will take over your fussing because you know that's about as likely as us ever returning to Russia.”

“You don’t know that...” She trailed off, his glare told her there was no use arguing over this. He might very well be right after all. He looked at her quisically, as though weighing whether or not to speak. After a moment he shook his head, dismissing the thought. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Maybe never, he thought, how could he ever tell his family the real reason he would never marry. He often imagined running away with Abe, away from obligations to some hidden cottage where no one would ever see them. He imagined a life together, high on the top of a desert mountain, or deep in snowy woods, far from prying eyes. Stupidly, he imagined circling Abe seven times, breaking a glass with a healthy foot, kissing beneath an embroidered chuppah like the one Malka had been married under. Lying in bed at night he imagined music playing, the heady, sweet scent of the wine, dancing in a room all alone, throwing his arms around his shoulders and kissing Abe in front of G-d and everybody.  

Again, Rutka’s words brought him back from his imagination,

“I want to ask you something Chaim, are you listening?”  

“Hmmm? Oh sorry, yes, I’m listening.” he replied, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

“The young lady I’ve been working for at the apartments is returning to her country house as her cousin will soon be released from hospital. She has asked me to continue in her employment.” Chaim looked up at her quizzically, wondering why she was telling him this and not their parents. 

“I would be her lady’s maid. It would mean more money, enough to send much more home to you, enough maybe to send to Yitzy and Malky back in the old country. But it would mean I would work most always in the North, not here in London. I would have to leave home.” Chaim raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter to look at his sister.

“Papa would never allow it. You’re not even married. You couldn’t eat the food there even. You think you can find kosher in Yorkshire?” 

“I’m not asking your permission Chaim. I’m asking how to tell them. I will find a way to stay frum. That won’t change. But I have to do this. I have to do something to help them. And to help you and mama and tayte. And Chaim I hate living in the city. The smoke and the noise and the automobiles. I miss grass and trees. Horses and goats and chickens. I miss smelling rain on the breeze or seeing frost at dawn. I’m sure it will be no more than a year. Then I will come back and get married and make mama happy.” Chaim raised an eyebrow.

“Well, do what you want I suppose. But don’t make me be there when you tell our parents.”

~~~

Telling her parents went about as well as could be expected. Her mother cried and her father looked stoic and somewhat disappointed. She promised to find a shul in Manchester for the holidays and promised to try to come home for pesach, she promised to eat no meat or cheese and to prepare her own meals. She didn’t know if she could keep those promises but she promised herself she would try. Eventually they relented. The decision was made, Rutka would soon be leaving for a world much stranger to her than even the East End. 


	19. Journey Home

**The Journey Home- October and November, 1917**

“Private Craven, I have your x-ray results. Your legs are healing well and the fracture of your spine seems to have stabilized. The sensation and control in your trunk have improved as well, and thus far you've managed to avoid any severe infections. I’m going to discharge you at the end of the week. The therapists here are not equipped for the continued rehabilitation you will require. We are too short staffed and too overcrowded to give you everything you need. However I will be referring you to an American colleague of mine, Dr. Monroe. He is doing wonders with spinal patients in Philadelphia and he will be in England in a few months overseeing the opening of a rehabilitation facility for orthopedic and neurological patients in Manchester. He may wish you to come there for further treatment. In the meantime I will make sure that your nurse is qualified in our rehabilitation methods, and I will continue visiting you monthly to monitor your progress.” Dr. Hawthorne closed his file and looked up at Colin, expecting a response, though Colin wasn’t sure what response he hoped for.

Colin had been listening intently, nodding at times, wheeling slowly back and forth, his new way of pacing. He couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or not. He wanted to go home, he was tired of the hospital. He hated going to sleep to the sound of sick and dying men. He hated waking up to the same hospital routine everyday. Yet in a way he was afraid to go home, home felt like it meant his injury was more permanent somehow. As much as he hated it, the routine of hospital life was familiar, even comforting. He knew that he may need to come back into hospital for therapy or other treatment. Or simply if he was ill or had an infection, but it still made it all feel more real. As though recovery was ending, and life in a chair was really beginning. He knew too that he would continue physiotherapy to become stronger at home, but that still seemed like an insurmountable challenge. Here, everyone understood what he had seen on the front lines, and what he was now going through physically. No one stared at his chair or talked down to him as he remembered people doing when he had used a wheelchair as a child. No one ever batted an eye when he pissed himself or had violent muscle spasms. Here it was all normal, all taken care of, just another product of the war. At home, it would be like learning everything all over again, all the simple acts he had learned in the hospital weren’t necessarily easily translated to Misselthwaite Manor. Colin was brought out of his thoughts by his doctor’s continued discussion of two images he had just brought from a second file.

“I do want to discuss your most recent x-rays. As you can see, these have shown that the swelling around the spinal cord has gone down. These images of the cord are much clearer than your initial x-rays, and they have shown significant damage to the cord.” he pointed to the left hand image on his desk. 

“On these new images where the swelling has gone down you can see that a portion of the cord has been compressed by the dislocated vertebrae. You can also see that as the bones heal the bone seem to be returning to a more normal position, so the pressure on the cord will continue to lessen over time. This means improvement is still possible and that over time is will less likely for you to re-injure yourself with everyday activities. You may continue to experience return of sensation up to eighteen months post injury, I’ve seen some patients regain new sensations as much as two years on. However I would say it is unlikely that you will see much more significant return of movement, I’m sorry.” Colin nodded. None of this was particularly surprising. Though he was glad that this meant he wouldn’t have to be treated as though he were made of glass for the rest of his life. He hated having to wear the cumbersome back brace every time he had to be moved. If he didn’t have to worry about hurting himself maybe he could find ways to be active, independent, at least a little. Colin interrupted Dr. Hawthorne’s explanation with an unexpected question.

“If I stay healthy, do you think I could go back to university? I was at Cambridge before I joined up. I wanted to study medicine. I received honors my first year, they may accept me back despite...” he gestured to his legs, as though gesturing to an unruly piece of machinery. Dr. Hawthorne looked up at him, a little surprised, and leaned over his desk, looking Colin up and down quizzically. He raised an eyebrow, half nodding as he considered Colin’s question. 

“Honestly I couldn’t say. You may be able to regain your health enough to be physically able to handle the workload. The real trouble would be the buildings. You would have to have people with you to bring you to classes, up stairs. Getting around the campus will be physically straining, and possibly detrimental to your overall health. I know of no one who has done this. But that is not to say you couldn’t. Honestly, I really don’t know son.” Colin nodded. A bubble of hope was growing in his stomach. Just because no one else had done it doesn’t mean he couldn’t. He had proved people wrong before, even if he had to give up walking, that didn’t mean he couldn’t prove the world wrong again. He would fight. He would get out of this hospital, get home, get strong, and eventually, get his degree, one way or another.   

~~~~

It was a rainy morning in November when Colin awakened to his last morning in the hospital. He was nervous, the rain making his mood more apprehensive. As he picked at his breakfast the storm cleared, revealing an unexpectedly blue sky.  

The journey to Misselthwaite proved to be a dismal one. Colin was laid flat on a stretcher, his pale, pained face in stark contrast to the bright autumn day outside. His uniform drew pitying stares towards their little group, and a few older, motherly looking women came up and said a few comforting words to Colin. 

“You’ll be alright lovey!” called a stout woman in a green dress

“Poor dearie, it’s all over now, you’ve done your bit.” came another, motherly voice. He gave them pained smiles and whispered thanks, even though he mostly just wanted to be left alone. He figured their sons or grandsons were probably overseas and they needed someone to reassure them that they were alright. His thin, still, form was cold comfort he knew, but he couldn’t destroy their hope. He had been doing so well in the hospital, he had felt stronger every day. But the journey to the train station had been brutal. He felt like he had been pushed back in his recovery by months. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to the train journey any longer.

~~~~

The train ride was a blurry hell of pain and exhaustion. First there was the painful and awkward transfer from the stretcher to the bunk, then once the train began moving, every jolt sent waves of pain through Colin's body. Even after months in the hospital, and countless hours of physio, his back was extremely tender and movement caused him severe pain. Worse than that, the jerking movements of the train had begun to trigger painful spasms in his legs which lasted for many minutes and thoroughly exhausted him. Mary sat beside him, holding his hand, and periodically massaging his legs and back to try and relieve some of the pain and spasms. They sat in silence, watching the beauty of the English countryside passing by them, though Colin got no joy from the sight. Mary never let go of Colin’s hand, not when his face screwed up with pain, not when he shouted out in short gasps, and not when he eventually, mercifully, fell asleep.

Once Colin was asleep, his body exhausted by pain (and helped along by a tablet of morphine), Mary turned her attention to her uncle who was sitting stiffly in the corner of the cabin.  

“He should sleep the rest of the journey Uncle Archie. He’ll be groggy for a few days but...” Archie cut her off,

“It’s better than having him in that much pain. I can’t stand seeing him like that.” Archie went quiet after that, staring out the window but looking at nothing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Journey Home: Part II**

Colin was carried upstairs to the room in which he had spent the first ten years of his life. He was already half asleep by the time he was undressed and settled into the tall four poster bed hung with brocade. The journey from the hospital had tired him so. He could tell that the journey had undone some of the progress he had made while in the hospital. He almost had to laugh at how he had managed to exhaust himself essentially by lying on a stretcher on a train. Dr. Craven came in briefly as did the specialist nurse whom Dr. Hawthorne had recommended. The meeting with Dr. Craven was strange for Colin. During his teens Colin had come to the point of forgiving his uncle for his misguided care. He had realized that if he never gave any indication to Dr. Craven that he was anything but a sickly invalid, there was no reason for Dr. Craven to think that he wasn’t. He also knew that on the all too frequent occasions when he had been legitimately ill, it was Dr. Craven who nursed him back to health. As a child he had survived rheumatic fever, typhoid,  and on one occasion a nearly fatal bout of double pneumonia. He knew that it was only thanks to Dr. Craven that he had survived. During his fight with pneumonia, Colin remembered a night when his breath began to rattle in his chest and he didn't have even the strength to cough, he could feel his lungs filling with fluid. His breathing became shallow and ragged, and his lips turned blue. He had felt life itself leaving him. Dr. Craven had moved him into the bathroom and filled the room with steam. Colin was barely conscious so he held him upright, pounding his back and wrapping his chest in hot wet towels until he managed to bring up enough mucus that his breathing began to ease. He wasn't meant to survive that night, but thanks to Dr. Craven, he did. He knew as well that taking on such a treatment had required both bravery and love. His uncle had sat in a stifling room for nearly twelve full hours, Colin remembered coughing thick mucus onto his uncle’s jacket, crying in his arms, his exhausted little body violently vomiting due to the great effort of coughing. At eight years old Colin had not understood that this showed his uncle to be a caring man. He only knew that at a point when all he wanted to do was sleep his uncle’s treatment sent him into fits of painful exhausting coughs. He hadn't understood until he was older that the painful treatment had been lifesaving.

Colin had begun around the age of 15 to visit his uncle’s office during rainy summer days to read his medical books. His uncle was not a cruel man or even a dreadful doctor, he knew that he now trusted his uncle’s care. Yet realizing that he was once again an invalid under Dr. Craven’s care gave Colin an unnerving sense of deja vu. If anything, it was worse for Dr. Craven, his eyes carried a deep sadness and guilt as he met Colin in the entry hall. His hand cupped Colin's cheek in a fatherly way, his thumb brushed a tear away from Colin's cheek as Colin reached his hand to Dr. Craven’s and entwined their fingers.

“I'm so sorry Colin.” There was so much in those four words. ‘I'm sorry I didn't stop you from going.’ ‘I'm sorry I didn't give you more years walking. I'm sorry that this time there really is nothing I can do. I am so so sorry.’ Colin nodded silently, squeezing his uncle’s hand.

 

Colin’s first night home had been a difficult one. He was in a great deal of pain and despite a dose of pain medication and a sleeping draught he slept poorly. During his nearly ten week stay in the hospital Colin had become accustomed to nurses coming during the night to turn him and had mostly learned to sleep through it. But that first night home Colin woke with his night nurse every two hours when she came to turn him. By the morning he was depressed and exhausted, angry at his body for betraying him. 

He still lay, crying silently into his pillow when he heard his door open quietly. He heard a thickly accented female voice, she sighed something in a foreign language, - 

“Oh, bubbeleh”-then said in English. 

“Master Craven, I've been sent to bring you some breakfast if you think you can eat.” Colin turned his head to look at her. The girl was beautiful, she was  around his own age but short and strongly built. She had dark hair which framed her face with soft curls and big, dark eyes. Her face was so kind, and caring, it nearly sent him bursting into tears again but instead he just shook his head joylessly. 

“I'm not hungry.” 

The girl came closer, placing a tray on the bedside table. She sat in the chair which had been placed next to his bed and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I was told you would say that. But unfortunately for you, I was also told not to listen.” Colin couldn't help but give her a watery smile. It was nice to be spoken to with humor, rather than pity. 

“At least tell me your name first.” He hated how weak and tired his voice sounded. But still she smiled and gave a small nod. 

“My name is Rutka.  _ Nu,  _ so, would you like to try and sit up, then you could eat for yourself. Then there is no need for me to do it, which I am sure you would prefer.” Colin was exhausted but something about his girl made him give a nod. “Here, put your arm around my shoulder” Colin obliged, wincing as Rutka maneuvered him slowly into a semi seated position, propped up by a mound of pillows. Colin sipped his tea listlessly and took his pain medication and picked at a few bites of toast. After several minutes Colin began to feel quite dizzy, he felt his stomach lurch in protest to his upright position. He had had this problem in the hospital, the strange sensation of sitting upright, yet being mostly unable to feel himself sitting on the bed, the strange floating sensation often left him dizzy and nauseous. Dr. Hawthorne had said it would pass in time and he would be able to sit up normally. Clearly the journey had set him back, he hadn't vomited from sitting up too long in over two weeks.

“I think I'm going to be sick.” Rutka reacted quickly moving his tray and replacing it with a bedpan. There wasn't much in Colin's stomach to bring up. He coughed and gagged as Rutka held him up, taking most of his weight on her small shoulders, she soothingly rubbed his back murmuring into his ear. 

“It's going to be alright, you'll feel better in a minute.” 

When he was done, Rutka gave him some water to rinse his mouth. She took a cloth and wiped his lips before laying him down. Colin could never remember being this embarrassed in his entire life. He knew he shouldn't be, this girl was a servant, and worse, clearly not English. There certainly could never be romance between them. Impossible, especially now. But still, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life and the first time they met he had thrown up. Now he was shaking and sweating, tears pricking his eyes. It was humiliating. He laughed cynically, 

“You must think me a right pathetic bastard.” She looked hard at Colin, leaning over him and daubing a cool cloth on his cheek. 

“No, I don't. I think your body is fighting a battle, maybe not in a battlefield but still a battle. Your body is doing everything it can to make you survive. There's no shame in that.” 

Her kindness broke him. Almost unconsciously he murmured 

“God how do I get through this?” There was a dark knowledge in her eyes when she replied softly, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

“You just survive, you just keep going, one day at a time. There is no choice, you just do.” Colin's eyes were pleading; “How? How the hell do I survive like this?” Rutka's heart swelled for the broken man before her. She knew it wasn't her place to comfort him, but she couldn't help herself. She took Colin's hand, and folded it between her own. 

“You live, you keep going, one day at a time. You wake up, you breath, you eat, you sleep, you speak to those you love. You will get through this, sir, I promise you, the world will not always look so dark. I know it seems so now, but soon, it will be easier. You will get stronger. You will get used to it. People, we are so strong, so much stronger than we think, we can get used to almost anything. One day you will wake up and you will be happy, and all this will not feel so horrible. All you have to do is survive one more day. One, plus, one, plus one. In time, with help, you will build a life, a good life.” 

Colin gave a watery smile, 

“Just not a very mobile one.” They sat in silence for a few moments, her eyes were distant as though looking into the past. Then she pulled herself back.

“So much pain in the world, we shouldn't think of it. Let's clean you up and then, we go forward. No more looking to the past, you have a new life now. You must learn to live it. And we start with getting you out of this bed.” Colin shifted to see the wheelchair which once again sat by his window. 

“Why? I'll just be sick again if I try to sit up.” He had sat in a wheelchair for short periods during his last weeks in the hospital. But his doctor had made it clear that he shouldn't be sitting for long periods until his back had healed more completely. Mostly he had been either in bed or in the cumbersome spinal carriage which they used to move him around the hospital and the grounds. 

At that moment Mary walked in. She smiled at Rutka, 

“I've come as reinforcements,” she looked at Colin “I figured you would be making yourself quite impossible by now.” Colin smirked. 

“You know me so well, cousin.” Rutka smiled at their banter. 

“Surprisingly we've done rather well, your cousin has given you a bad name.” Colin grunted slightly, a tiny hint of laughter in his eyes.

“Yes, of course, I only vomited my breakfast all over you, nothing too serious.” Rutka was clearing away the soiled bedpan at that moment, and laughed. 

“Not all over, you were very tidy. Besides, I'm one of ten children, believe me, that was nothing.” Colin shrugged, giving a half smile.

“Point taken, I still don't see why I have to be out of bed. It's not as though I'm going to be doing anything, I'm not supposed to sit up for more than an hour at a time. And besides that, forgive me, but I don't see how the two of you are going to get me into that chair.” Colin was probably right, he couldn’t yet help much with his own transfers, and although he had lost a good deal of weight he still had probably had at least 4 inches on both of them. Mary pulled her long time favorite footstool near Colin's bed and sat down. 

“Oh we won't be doing that, Tom and the nurse will be coming in a few minutes to get you into the chair. Dr. Craven said he wanted you in the chair when he comes by. He seemed quite insistent.” Colin groaned. 

“God in heaven why?” Mary shrugged. 

“I haven't the foggiest, still at least it's better than him keeping you in this bed forever.” Colin rubbed his still slightly spinning head. 

“At this point I'm not so sure about that.” 

Rutka could see the pain in Mary's face as she tried to remain cheerful. Rutka put a comforting hand on Mary’s shoulder. She spoke calmly, but decisively. 

“How about we try something? Perhaps if we sit you up only a little bit at a time, and let you rest in between you will not feel so dizzy, it is like when you run or learn something new, you make it only a little harder and it never seems too hard to continue.” Slowly, one pillow at a time with breaks in between they got Colin once again into a sitting position. This time he didn't feel so dizzy, and by the time Nurse Mount and Tom came in he was sitting rather comfortably and had even managed a bit more of his breakfast. Colin's bed was much higher than his hospital bed had been so getting him into his chair was more difficult. Nurse Mount and Mary held him in a seated position at the edge of his bed, they then they held his legs as Tom lifted him carefully into his chair. When he was finally settled it took a few moments for him to collect himself, his body was still exhausted and achy from the past day’s journey and he was feeling the lingering effects of the sleeping draught he had taken the night before. 

“Well, I'm up, I hope Dr. Craven’s happy. Putting me through this so early.” Mary chuckled slightly as it was at that very moment that Rutka brought Dr. Craven into the room.

“As a matter of fact I am, Colin. It's good to see you up, even if you look a bit peaked” Colin snorted, still in a bad mood. Mostly as a consequence of the pain. His back was already aching after his short time upright. Dr. Craven set down his bag on a table and moved up to Colin. He brought a chair opposite Colin so they were looking eye to eye, his brows furrowed.

“Are you in much pain Colin.” Colin snorted, his mood was not improved by his uncle’s kindness, or his concern 

“What do you think? Yes of course I’m in pain, I’m in pain all the time!” Dr. Craven sighed, he slowly lifted and locked the wooden footrests so that Colin’s legs were elevated at a slight angle, then he took two cushions from Colin’s sofa and placed one behind his back and the other under his knees. The splint had been removed but reinforced bandages remained to keep the bones straight and assist his circulation. 

“That should help a bit for now, it won’t feel like quite such a shock on your back, and I won't keep you up too long, you do need your rest. But we do have a lot of work to do.” Colin rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. 

“What kind of work could I possibly do like this?” He growled, glowering quite sullenly. Dr. Craven looked hard at his nephew, setting his jaw ever so slightly as though to tell the young man that he knew every sullen face Colin could make and this time he wasn’t going to heed any of them. 

“Well Colin, we have to get you to the point where you can sit up for more than five minutes without pain. You have to learn to care for yourself, to bathe yourself and dress yourself. You need work with me and your nurse to take care of your body as it continues to heal and then you have to work very hard to build your arm strength. You have a great deal of work which you can do, and which, indeed, you must do.” Another stab of pain shot up Colin’s spine, finding its resting place around his left temple. He leaned his head back, twisting his neck trying to relieve the pain. Dr. Craven stood and felt Colin’s forehead. 

“Your temperature is slightly elevated.” Dr. Craven noted concernedly, Mary spoke up, her tone worried. 

“Doctor, Colin vomited earlier this morning, we thought it was just dizziness from coming off the morphine he had yesterday but now...” Dr. Craven looked concerned but Colin just turned his head away, waving away Dr. Craven’s hand. 

“Oh will you both stop fussing! I’m fine, I’m not ill, I'm just tired, don’t treat me like I’m some fragile pathetic thing!” Mary’s looked daggers at her cousin. 

“That’s not what we’re doing and you know it! We care for you Colin, we don’t want to see you hurt.” Colin scoffed.

“Too late.” He said somewhat darkly, but Mary could see that her hard stare had softened his anger.

“Mary, Nurse, I’d like him back in bed please. I think perhaps this was too much too soon. Rest today, perhaps we can try some time in the chair again tomorrow.” When Colin was back in bed, Dr. Craven dismissed Mary and Nurse Mount.

“I know you’re angry and tired Colin, I understand that. But this could be the beginning of another infection, somebody will have to check, but you can choose who, would you prefer me or the nurse?” Defeated, Colin murmured,

“You can do it.” Dr. Craven nodded.

“Alright, first I am going to check your urine, can you feel at all when you have to go?” 

“I’ve started to a little, but it comes and goes. And it isn’t really a normal sensation, it's mostly noticing when I have spasms in my abdomen. Sometimes I feel pressure too, but not always.”

“Are you able to pass water yourself, or only with the catheter?” Colin didn’t think his face was capable of turning a deeper shade of red.

“I haven’t tried. When it happens... accidentally... Dr. Hawthorne said there wasn’t any residuals. I don’t quite know what that means, but he said that was a good sign.” Dr. Craven nodded.

“It is, Colin, it might not seem like much but it is. Believe me. So is the sensation, you may be able use it in time to regain some continence.” Colin didn’t react much, but gave a half hearted nod. Dr. Craven washed his hands then catheterized his patient, and thankfully there didn’t seem to be any infection. Dr. Craven then checked Colin’s back and legs for pressure wounds. Sure enough, a small sore had opened on the bony protuberance of Colin’s heel. 

“Hmmm... this must be from your boots yesterday. Once you’re up and about we’ll have to find a way around this, we can’t have your heels constantly breaking down. Especially since you’ve avoided severe sores thus far. I'm going to put some iodine on the wound and I want you to make sure your legs remain elevated, I don't want any pressure on that heel.” Colin nodded and after cleaning and tending to the sore, Dr. Craven took his leave. 

Mary came in some time later with some broth and Colin obediently drank, he was still completely exhausted and just wanted to sleep away the fever. 

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	20. Learning to Live

The low, lingering fever persisted for two days.  That, combined with the painful recovery from the train journey left Colin sulky and tired. His days and nights took on a monotonous routine far too reminiscent of his childhood. In hospital he at least had the excuse that he was, well, _in hospital._ Of course his days were filled with doctors and nurses. Once home, he truly began to feel like an invalid, and that scared him. 

Each morning was the same, his nurse would come in and they would struggle through his morning toilet. Slowly he began to attempt to help as Mary or the nurse washed him and got him into a seated position. He would then have to wait for Tom, one of the manservants, to help him onto the sofa. All before taking his breakfast. Whereas in the hospital he had the companionship of his fellow injured soldiers. Back home, his world had shrunk. Literally. In those first couple weeks he rarely left his room, even as his health and energy levels started to recover from the trip. There just wasn’t a need. In the hospital he was taken down to the washroom for a bath a couple times a week, to the physiotherapy room every day, and out to the garden or the patient lounge when he felt his best. Here just about everything he needed could be done in his room. Once his strength began to return he had a bit more freedom. He was bathed in the bathroom attached to his bedchamber, he could be wheeled to the library or art gallery down the hall to read. But it was too cold to go into the gardens or into the Thwaite while his health was still so fragile. His physical therapy was done in his bed, so most of his day was spent in his bedchamber.  Perhaps unsurprisingly it didn’t take long for him to become rather bored of his surroundings. 

In the hospital at least he had been moved around a couple of times a day once he was off flat bed rest, he had even been brought outside. Though most of the men in his ward hadn’t been healthy enough to talk much they had still managed some conversation, often late at night when their pain was too great or they woke from being turned. Besides his fellow spinal patients there were a half dozen nurses to talk to, then there was Sybil with whom he had quickly rekindled a friendship, his doctors, and the other men in physio whom he had become fast friends with. There was Lieutenant Bloom and Dickon who visited him on the ward. Back at Misselthwaite, his world immediately shrunk to family, staff, and Dickon. Though people from the village occasionally stopped by, and he knew that soon visitors would arrive frequently as the season began,The only new faces were his nurse and Mary’s new lady’s maid, so Colin did his best to become better acquainted with her. He was friendly with Nurse Mount (most of the time) but it was hard for him to want to be friends with the person who dressed him every morning, bathed him, and helped him go to the bathroom.  

Over the first few weeks the pity of his family, the servants, and the acquaintances who often visited was emotionally exhausting. It didn’t help that Colin was also physically exhausted from the therapy and the recovery from his trip. But slowly, as his health returned, the routine became almost normal. His new nurse, Celia Mount, had trained with a Dr. Jones, one of Dr. Hawthorne’s few colleagues in London who would treat rather than neglect spinal patients. She continued where Sybil and Dr. Crawford left off with his physiotherapy.  Therapy began rather easily, consisting of simple leg stretches which were done in bed while lying on his back. It was nothing like the calisthenics Sybil had forced upon the other men in hospital. As his health improved once again they began working on his balance and arm strength. Soon, Nurse Mount was having him wheel himself in laps up and down the hall outside his room until his arms ached and sweat poured down his brow. It felt good though, like he was getting better, really getting better. His arms, which despite the therapy he had received in the hospital had grown thin and weak, began to gain muscle. Enough that he no longer relied on servants to push the chair unless he would need to go over any steps. By the end of each day his muscles were aching, but there were times when he felt the exhilaration which came with progress. Other times, it just hurt.

~~~

The one new face that peaked his interest was Mary’s new lady’s maid. She didn’t  Besides that, Rutka was interesting. She had a dark, exotic beauty, her past was mysterious and fascinating the way Mary’s had been. But it was much more than that, it seemed as though she had experience with hardship, but also with the after-effects of crippling illness. Mary had told him that the girl’s younger brother had survived infantile paralysis. It gave Colin hope that she might just be the one person who wouldn’t treat him with kid gloves or look at him with pity.  Because his health had taken such a downturn, he had begun to feel as though every interaction was tinged with pity, any short conversation where it wasn’t, felt like a god sent reprise. He didn’t get a chance to speak with her often, but when he did, he was always left smiling. She was funny, and smart, and her accent was enthralling. 

About a week after he returned it had been Rutka’s task to bring his supper. He had had a difficult day and was stiff and achy which in turn made him cross. He had no choice but to lay flat on his back, the only position where he wasn’t in so much pain he couldn’t breath. 

“You seem rather glum Mister Craven. Are you alright?”

“Just tired.” he murmured.

“You all have the same lie.” She replied softly, he hadn’t expected that certainly and turned towards her, opening his eyes. 

“Whatever do you mean?” He snapped. 

“It is what my brother says when he’s in pain. ‘Just tired’ it means you’re hurting and are too proud to say it.” He turned further towards her, wincing at the movement. She had put the tray on a nearby table and had come towards his bed, her olive skin glowing in the low lamp light.

“Perhaps,” he answered softly. “It’s easier to have your pain alone, instead of everyone incessantly fussing over you.” She raised a dark eyebrow- oh she was so beautiful- Colin couldn’t help but thinking.

“Perhaps they fuss because they care, they are in pain too, different from yours yes, but still pain. I’ll tell you a secret women don’t tell our men. We fuss and nudge because doing something, anything, is how we show we care. It’s why all British ladies rush to make a cup of tea when something goes wrong.” Colin laughed, not minding that it hurt. 

“Fair enough Rutka, fair enough.” 

“I hate to go right into the fussing- but is there anything I can do for you? You really ought to eat something.” He nodded, knowing she was right. He had lost over ten pounds, on top of what he had lost at the front, it had all been weight he couldn’t afford to lose and Dr. Craven, Mary, Nurse Mount, hell even Dickon had been hounding him to eat more. 

“I suppose I should.” He pushed himself up slightly, though it didn’t do much, “Would you mind sitting with me?” He asked, rather awkwardly.

“Of course.” she smiled kindly. Without being asked she moved to his bed and started to rearrange the pillows so he could sit. She took his hand, and slipped her arm under his back.

“Easy does it,” she murmured as she slowly eased him up into a sitting position. Looking down, she saw the pain in his beautiful grey eyes. As she eased him down against his pillows her hand brushed against his chest and she felt the hitched breathing there. She smiled down at him and was surprised to see him smiling back up at her. 

“Thank you,” he said, looking up at her big, dark, eyes. She looked away, a bit flustered, and brought his dinner over, setting it on the tray table over his bed. 

“Would you mind staying?” Colin asked suddenly, Rutka was a bit surprised but nodded, bringing over a nearby chair and sitting down, arranging her dark skirts around her.  

“Of course.” Colin started eating slowly and they sat in silence for several minutes before Colin asked,

“Are you happy here? It must be rather a change from home, and Mary said you are quite close to your family.” She nodded slowly, and when she spoke her voice was soft, and sad. 

“I miss them, very much. But I am happy here. I am my own person here. At home, I am part of something bigger, but having both, experiencing both. It is important for me.” Colin nodded, running his spoon around his soup bowl and taking a bite.

“You said you had ten siblings?” she nodded, smiling. “Would you tell me about them? It might help you to talk about them, and It might take my mind off things.” she nodded, smiling, somewhat taken aback that he cared to hear about her family. 

“Like you said, there’s ten of us, five brothers, four sisters, and me.  And of course our  _ tayte-mame _ . The littlest is Gabi, he’s four. He’s a little darling- and a little devil,” she laughed. Then Shaydel, she’s six, and Tzippy- Tzipporah who’s seven. Dovid is nine, then Chaim who’s sixteen, then me. Older than me are Moshe, my sister Fayge, who just had her first baby. Then back in the old country are Malky and her  husband Yuri, and Yitzhak and his wife Esther, and their children of course.”

“Where do they live? It can’t be easy, thinking of them over there with the war on.” She nodded sadly, 

“Malky lives in Warsaw. Yitzhak, well he’s with the army. Last we heard he was stationed in Odessa, and his wife was home in her village which is near Kiev. We lived in a town in Bessarabia, I don’t know what the region is called in English. We lived too in Warsaw the last few years before coming over.” Colin nodded, he couldn’t imagine it, having one’s family so scattered, and scattered in a way that put them in such danger. 

“I know from rather a lot of recent experience that this doesn’t really help, but I’m very sorry they are stuck there, and I do hope your brother stays safe.” Rutka gave a watery half smile, 

“Thank you,” their eyes met, and several minutes went by before they realized they were staring at each other. 

“Are you finished?” Rutka asked, breaking their silence. 

“Yes, do you mind helping me back down onto my back? The nurse will be in in a while, but I think I need to sleep until she comes.” It was awkward, and he knew he sounded awkward, and knew she could probably tell. But as they had talked, even with the distraction, his back had begun aching badly once again. 

“Of course.” she stood, here slim, strong, arms wrapped around him and soon he as lying down again. Moving had made the pain spike and he screwed his eyes shut as he tried to breathe evenly as pain hit him. As it started to ebb, he realized that he was squeezing Rutka’s hand with all his might. He let it go and let his arm drop to the bed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” she took his hand again, shaking her head.

“You didn’t, you were in pain, it’s quite alright.” She smiled down at him, drawing the blankets more comfortably over him. She began to turn away, but he took her hand, turning her back towards him. 

“Would you stay? I...” he didn’t know how to get this out. It had been so hard to fall asleep alone, ever since he got home. He would fall asleep, and fall straight into nightmares of the front. The only thing that seemed to help was knowing someone was there. Rutka looked at him wondering. She remembered all too well the nights where she couldn’t sleep until her sisters came to bed so she could lie between them and feel safe. Those nights after the massacre where she saw waves of blood behind her eyes every night. She wondered what this young lord saw in his nightmares. 

“I know.” she whispered, “I stay as long as you need.” She turned down the lamp and sat beside him once more.

As Colin closed his eyes she began to sing a song, that for all it’s lilting minor notes and its ai-lu-lu chorus, sounded angry.

_ Bin ikh mir geshtanen baym mayn tayte afn hoyf _

_ Her ikh a geshray “yunger-man antloyf!”  _

_ Mit ai-ai-ai un ai-lu-lu, ai-ai-ai, ai-ai-ai, ai-lu-lu, ai-lu-lu _

It was a song about a  _ khaper _ , a snatcher, or kidnapper. Who the Czar sent out to steal Jewish boys and take them for the army. At the time Colin knew none of this, only that the words were soft and lilting, and Rutka’s voice wonderfully soothing. And soon enough, he fell asleep, to the sound of her voice, as though it were the wings of a mighty bird who held him gently between its great wings.


End file.
